


Chasing the Light

by dragonmage27



Series: Modern Royalty AU [1]
Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Fluff, Gen, Modern Royalty, Overprotective Auguste, SO MUCH FLUFF, Smaurent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-14
Updated: 2017-02-25
Packaged: 2018-09-24 09:14:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,381
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9714806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dragonmage27/pseuds/dragonmage27
Summary: Auguste and Laurent grow up as the two golden princes of modern day Vere.





	1. bambin

**Author's Note:**

> This is the prequel of [Cynthia's](http://archiveofourown.org/users/fatcynthiablackbeauty/pseuds/fatcynthiablackbeauty) modern royalty AU. I am in love with this series and I'm so blessed that she has invited me to play in her sandbox. If you haven't read it yet, what are you waiting for! :) 
> 
> This fic comes with a diabetes warning -- you will need insulin to handle all the sweetness.

 

When Prince Auguste was born, the entire nation held their breath in anticipation and excitement for the arrival of the new heir to the throne of Vere. All in the kingdom, after hearing the news of his healthy birth, celebrated and cheered on the streets. In the following years, Auguste charmed the world with his blonde hair and bright smiles. News vans camped outside the palace gates, trying in vain to catch glimpses of the darling prince playing in the gardens at the Arles palace. Whenever he appeared in public, Auguste was gracious and well-behaved, the perfect prince who ruled the palace staff with wide blue eyes and a quivering lip. He got everything he wanted, to the dismay of his mother.

A few were nervous when Prince Laurent of Vere was born—how would the six-year-old Crown Prince Auguste react to having a little brother? Would he glow green with envy, having to share the attention? But those people need not have worried. The moment the younger prince reached and yanked onto Auguste’s blonde locks with a grin, cerulean eyes bright in a photograph that was sneaked to the media, the whole kingdom knew Laurent already had his older brother eating out of his hands, and he was barely a month old.

To the displeasure of Laurent’s nursemaid and the amusement of Hennike, Auguste insisted on being involved in nearly every aspect of Laurent’s upbringing. Auguste raced home from his elite private school every day, learning his alphabets and sitting through history, music, and art lessons with no complaints so long as his evening was freed up to play with Laurent.

Laurent’s first word was ‘ma’ although Auguste swore up and down to whoever would listen that Laurent’s first word was actually ‘Auguste’ when Laurent cried out ‘Aw,’ if only the rest of the kingdom had the patience to let Laurent finish. Laurent’s second word was ‘goose’ and Auguste answered to that for the next two years.

When Laurent took his first two steps, Auguste shouted in elation, shocking the toddler and sending him falling back to the floor. Auguste spent the next hour trying to coax Laurent back onto his feet, and Hennike recorded the entire affair, fondly pulling back out the footage every few years to the embarrassment of her sons.

When, over the summer, Auguste’s tutors complained that the presence of Laurent distracted the Crown Prince from his studies, Auguste decided to study with Laurent, who was now nearing two. He would sit on a cushion in their library and pull Laurent onto his lap, and open up his books. Laurent would point at the pictures on the pages and start talking, trying to repeat his older brother's words as Auguste read aloud to him. By the end of the story, Laurent would be slumped against Auguste napping, drooling into his shirt.

Later, Auguste would request for whipped cream to be sprayed on the clean dining room table to help Laurent learn the alphabet. Laurent would be attentive for a while, sounding out the letters as Auguste guided his finger to give the sound its alphabetic shape. Shortly, however, he would abandon the lesson to mash his hands in the sweet cream and then bring it into his mouth, smearing it over his face with a laugh.

Once Laurent began having his own official lessons, Auguste would boast that Laurent was a genius and learned his letters so brilliantly fast because he had started Laurent young. Hennike reflected back and blamed Auguste for Laurent's sweet tooth.

In all, Laurent was a chubby, happy child, and Auguste could deny him nothing. At all. Sweetmeats, milk, whipped cream, chocolate, or even an extra bedtime story; whatever he cried for, he knew if he asked it of Auguste, he'd get it.


	2. six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Slight time skip, Laurent is six years old. Every chapter from now will feature a moment in Laurent's childhood in each age.

Auguste always knew he was Laurent’s favorite, but he never felt his place in Laurent’s heart threatened as much as the first time he introduced Laurent to the palace dogs. Giant Patran hounds and Dobermans slobbered at Laurent, licking away his giggles and playfully pushing him about. Auguste pouted when Laurent let go of his hand to play with the newborn pups.

“Do you have a favorite one, Laurent? Father said we can take one back to the main house if we promise to take care of it,” Auguste said as he scratched the belly of a husky pup.

“This one!” Laurent held the fox terrier pup by its belly and almost shoved it at Auguste’s face. “But I want to take this one home,” he said instead, placing the fox terrier down gently and moving to pet the grey husky alongside Auguste.

“Why?”

Laurent smiled at him widely. “Because he’s your favorite, and you’re my favorite.”

Laurent, of course, had flawless logic. Auguste let him name the husky ‘Goose’.

From that day onwards, Laurent and Goose were almost inseparable. The husky was Laurent’s shadow, just as Laurent was Auguste’s shadow. When Auguste was away taking extra lessons afterschool, Laurent and Goose raced through the halls, dodging palace staff and played fetch amongst the library stacks. No one wanted to be the one to tell the cute younger prince that Goose was shedding hair on priceless antique rugs and had gnawed on the leg of Aleron’s favorite chair.

But Hennike was forced to finally intervene when, after a particularly rainy afternoon, Laurent and Goose drudged mud through the foyer after playing in the gardens. Laurent was chastised for adding extra work to the housekeepers, and Auguste ended up comforting him by attempting to juggle oranges. He wasn’t very good, but that was perhaps what made Laurent laugh.

Goose was kept with the keeper of the kennels for two weeks as punishment for their rambunctious playing and it made Auguste worried that first night because they were advised there would be a particularly nasty storm.

His little brother was afraid of thunderstorms. The sound of thunder made Laurent bury himself under his sheets and often, Auguste woke up to Laurent climbing into his bed during a particularly bad storm. Drowsy with sleep, he would simply lift his covers, press a kiss to his brother’s head, and pull him closer before drifting back to his dreams.

After the arrival of Goose into the household, however, Laurent starting clinging to his growing puppy instead, burying his face into his dog’s fur to drown out the thunder. It pleased Aleron because he didn’t think a growing prince should be scared of thunder or spend the night sleeping next to his older brother.

That night, Auguste was woken by a particularly loud crack of thunder, the storm being close enough to light up the night sky. It illuminated his room and Auguste frowned when it was empty, no sign of his younger brother running in to hide under his covers. He slipped out of bed, ignored the cold floors on his feet and looked for Laurent but his room was empty.

Auguste had an inkling, so he put on a warmer jacket and headed towards the kennel house, running through the pouring rain with his umbrella.

There he met the rather abashed kennel master, Berenger. “Ah, your highness. I was just about to inform your mother, Her Majesty the Queen. I was worried that the storm would awake the dogs, so I came in and—” he walked over to the kennel where they kept the newborn pups. “Perhaps you should see for yourself.”

Curled up amongst the puppies, even snuggling one to his chest, was Laurent. The small balls of fluff were cute on their own, but his younger brother, with his cherubic cheeks and mussed golden hair, made even the usually impassive kennel master look on with a fond gaze.

Auguste’s fingers twitched; he wanted to pull out his phone and snap a picture to preserve this moment—which made him think back on Berenger’s face when he arrived. Auguste turned to look at him, “Did you happen to take photo?”

Ever since that first leaked photo when Laurent was only a month old, employees at the palace were under very strict confidential-binding contracts, and many employees were encouraged to bring camera-less phones to work. Auguste did not want pictures of his little brother sold to the media.

Berenger ducked his head, ashamed. “Yes, Your Highness.”

“Did you plan on sharing the photo with anyone?” Auguste kept his voice hard, a trick he learned from his father during particularly irritating Senate meetings.

“No, Your Highness.”

Berenger was a loyal and trusted worker at the palace. He raised every dog that lived on the palace premises and even trained the ones used for hunting in other royal holdings. “Very well then. Send me a copy of the photo.” Berenger blinked. That would be the end of the issue, then.

Auguste moved to carry his brother into his arms. Laurent snuffled and turned, but curled in closer to Auguste’s warm body. As adorable as his brother looked nestled amongst the puppy pile, he didn’t want Laurent sleeping the night away in a dog kennel. Surely their father wouldn't be upset if, in the absence of Goose, Laurent spent one more night sleeping over with Auguste. He didn’t want Laurent to grow up thinking that ‘a Prince’s appearance of propriety,’ as their father often said, was more important than seeking comfort when he needed it.

If Laurent needed Auguste, he would be there to comfort him, come hell or high water.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you have a need of Laurent surrounded by puppies? Because I do and I hope I'm not the only one.


	3. seven

All parents—and proud brothers—claim their child (or brother) is a genius, but it wasn’t too long before the Veretian noble family realized that Laurent was truly remarkably intelligent. He took to his lessons like a fish to water and before long his vocabulary matched Auguste's, his older brother by six years. When he wasn’t running around the grounds with his puppy, or playing with Auguste throughout the palace, Laurent would most commonly be found curled up in a large armchair in the Royal Library, engaged in a thick tome about Veretian history, or classic Vaskian literature.

Gone were the days when Auguste would sneak into Laurent’s room after hours, crawl under the covers and read a fairy tale to his younger brother. Instead, he would trudge into Laurent’s room after a particularly difficult lesson (geopolitics between Vere and Akielos was confusing stuff) and flop onto Laurent’s bed. Laurent would rearrange his brother’s limbs until they were both in a suitably comfortable position, usually Auguste lying on his back, and Laurent lying perpendicular, his head resting on Auguste’s stomach. Then Laurent would pull out a heavy tome of tales—both of them favored stories that featured heroic medieval knights fighting off dangerous villains and saving the day—and Laurent would read, his soft voice soothing away Auguste’s burdens, until they were both lulled to sleep.

When Aleron hired a chess grandmaster to teach Auguste to train him in strategy, Auguste lost innumerably until he scurried the chess set with him to the library and taught the game to a seven-year-old Laurent. He won for about six months until Laurent began trouncing him in chess as well. Auguste was too impressed to get upset.

Instead, he slyly wagered his tutors that if they lost to Laurent, then he’d get a break from lessons for a week.  

He and Laurent spent the week at the beach.

-

That summer, inspired by the cooler beaches in Vere, Auguste pleaded with his mother to take them to the island of Isthima, known for its warm weather, beautiful white sand beaches and crystal blue waters. Aleron had frowned because it was technically Akielon territory and arranging for an official visit would involve a lot of protocol and informing all of the official channels, but Auguste pleaded, and Hennike agreed and there was little Aleron would refuse his wife.

And so, Auguste and Laurent found themselves on a private stretch of beach in Isthima, the perimeter surrounded by their Secret Service—not quite as secret as they were the only men on that beach. Hennike meanwhile had been whisked away to a charity gala, invited because she was a foreign Queen visiting a neighboring allied country, even if it was just a beach vacation to her sons.

Auguste dutifully rubbed Laurent down in sunscreen—to the displeasure of a ticklish Laurent—found his younger brother appropriately embarrassing swim trunks (green, with cupcakes on them), and taught him how to swim. Auguste, who had only ever been in the cold-water beaches near Arles, or sometimes the fresh-water lakes near Chastillon, found the warm waters of Akielos a complete delight. Laurent was a quick learner as always and soon was a slippery serpent, ducking underneath the water to hide from Auguste and then reappearing to splash him with water or tug him beneath the waves.

Afterwards, Jord, one of the younger Service men, handed them snorkeling gear and joined them as they quietly swam over coral to observe the local tropical fish. Laurent wanted to stay for hours. Auguste noticed Laurent’s shoulders starting to pink, however, and ushered them back to shore.

Once back on the beach, they reapplied sunscreen and built a sandcastle.

“A Veretian sand palace,” Laurent corrected, as he instructed Jord to fetch more water.

On the far end of the beach, there were people exiting one of the grand beachfront hotels, men wearing dark suits even in this heat and ladies wearing beautiful gowns. There was a young boy who appeared to be around Auguste’s age mingling with the adults, but when he spotted the two Veretian princes, waved frantically with a wide smile on his face.

Auguste, ever polite, waved back, despite being too far away to see who it was. Laurent stared; from afar, he could tell the boy was larger, with olive Akielon skin and head of messy, dark hair. Hesitantly, Laurent waved back.

Minutes later, Hennike returned to them, having been one of the ladies in fine dress at that end of the beach. “How are you boys?” In one hand were her nice shoes, taken off to walk along the beach easier; the other hand held the ends of her dress, so it wouldn't drag in the sand.

Auguste gestured towards his brother. “I think Laurent’s burnt.”

“No! I’m fine!” Laurent objected. “I want to see the fishes again!”

“Maybe tomorrow, okay?” Auguste ruffled Laurent’s damp, sandy hair. “Uncle said he arranged for us to see sea turtles!”

But tomorrow was spent indoors and in bed, as Laurent cried from the pain of his burned shoulders. Auguste gently rubbed aloe vera on Laurent’s red skin while Hennike prepared cool baths to help release the trapped heat. The younger prince vowed to never again return to Akielos with its dreadful sun. Auguste himself had pinked only a little, and by the end of the trip found himself slightly darker.

Upon their mother’s suggestion, they set off on a traditional Akielon boat the following night—long after the sun had set, for Laurent’s sake—and anchored the vessel in the Ellosean Sea, far from the shore. They would sleep overnight on the boat, a rather popular Isthima tourist attraction.

As the clouds cleared away leaving the stars shining bright above them, Hennike, Auguste, and Laurent laid on their backs on the top deck and gazed up at the night sky. The stars dazzled like they never had above the glittering city of Arles.

“Wow,” Laurent voiced out with childlike wonder, and Auguste wanted to echo the same. He couldn’t believe that this was the same sky as back home He wondered if there were parts of Vere where he could see the twinkling lights amidst a backdrop of the colorful universe.  Possibly in Vask—besides the capital city of Skarva, he heard there lay miles upon miles of rolling plains and empty mountains. He'd have to ask their mother to visit Vask next.

Hennike held onto Laurent and Auguste’s hand, only occasionally letting go to point out another constellation. She spoke of legends and myths surrounding each of the celestial beings, her soft voice reminding Auguste of when he was Laurent’s age and had asked her for the same fairytales that he now told Laurent.

“I wish Father could be here with us,” Auguste confessed. If Auguste ignored the few guards sitting with the captain, it was almost like they were a regular Veretian family vacationing in Isthima.

“He’s a busy man," Hennike said softly. "You know he'd be here if he could, sweetheart.”

After a brief silence, Laurent spoke up. “I don’t think Father likes me,” he said with a small voice.

“Oh, Laurent.” His mother tightened her grip on their hands. “Your father is just too busy to play with you. When he seems stern, it’s only because he’s tired from working. He’s the King and he doesn’t show his affection in the same way Auguste and I do. He does a lot of things that you may not understand now, but he does it all for you boys.”

Laurent turned, burying his face into his mother’s side. With a muffled voice, he said, “Why doesn’t he ever take me with him to Chastillon? Auguste gets to go every year.”

“I will speak with him if you truly want to go,” the Queen said with conviction. “As King, he has to make a lot of choices, for a lot of reasons that must remain secret.” She pulled their hands close and pressed a kiss to each of their knuckles. “Promise me you know he loves you.”

“I promise,” Laurent whispered.

Auguste, listening to the exchange, then and there made a promise to the stars that he would stay as loving to his brother now and forever, even after he became King. He would not need to curtail his affection to demonstrate that he was a strong king.

He also needed to distract his brother because Laurent sounded like he was about to cry.

“Hey, little brother. The sky isn’t so scary now, is it?”

“No,” Laurent answered. “It’s only scary when it’s angry.”

“You know, when I go to college, I’m going to study physics, I think. I’m going to study the secrets of our skies, and then you will not need to be afraid.”

Laurent hummed. “I don’t think you’re smart enough to study physics.” Then he broke into laughter like he had made a very funny joke.

Their mother began chuckling as well, and Auguste scowled. But Laurent was laughing again, and Auguste was intending to keep it that way. He knew Laurent’s ultimate weakness and crept close to get revenge by viciously tickling his brother. Laurent shrieked in laughter and tried to roll away, only to be attacked by his mother with her fingers.

They stayed out on the top deck of the boat for a long time because Laurent refused to leave, even as he struggled to keep his eyes open. As warm as Ios was, the air blowing off the ocean had a chill, so Hennike gave up trying to scurry her children to bed and instead brought the sheets and pillows to them. And so they slept, blanketed by the expansive starry sky above, and rocked to sleep by the gentle waves below.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now who could that boy have been?


	4. eight

There were a few sports the royal family of Vere was expected to partake in: sword fighting (in the Veretian style), archery, shooting, and equestrianism. Auguste, being naturally athletic, enjoyed all forms of sport, and had recently become interested in traditionally Akielon sports like wrestling and the _okton_ , which had evolved from its deadly matches to more of a refined art performance. Auguste and Laurent had both eagerly looked forward to Laurent’s seventh birthday when he could finally take his younger brother riding.

Laurent, as expected, loved it. He sat upon his pony—“I name him _Firefoot!_ ”—as if he was born to ride and although Auguste had purposely fell behind each time in order to hear the victorious whoop from his brother, he knew it wouldn't be long before he didn’t have to hold back at all.

Laurent was eight when he figured out Auguste had been letting him win. Laurent pouted, “I thought I had a very fast pony,” and sniffed, “do not do it again, Auguste.”

Auguste threw his head back and laughed. After that, he stopped letting Laurent win but Laurent used that to fuel his competitiveness. He spent hours every day in the stables, brushing his pony, feeding it apples and whispering encouraging praise. He saddled and unsaddled, climbing on and off his pony until his seat was impeccable.

Auguste had seen the kingdom’s riders during royal events and he knew that in a few years, there would be no match for Laurent. Auguste needed to return to his sword masters soon. Laurent was starting to pick up the sword and Auguste’s pride needed at least one win.

Right now though, Laurent was obsessed with horses, horses and more horses, because their mother had followed through with her promise, spoken to their father, and soon they were heading to the Chastillion Equestrian Games.

The annual competition was world-renown and drew thousands of visitors from all four nations, and even more watched it televised as riders compete in a variety of equestrian disciplines: from dressage, to showing jumping, to endurance riding, to eventing. The weekend affair drew many to the city of Chastillon and it was often compared as the Veretian’s Akielon Games.

For the few days they were in attendance, they would be staying in the palace at Chastillon, where their uncle resided for most of the year. For the past couple of years Auguste had attended the event with his uncle, also feasting and hunting for an extra few days. He'd always return to Arles with fun stories to regale to Laurent—which made his younger brother even more excited to come to Chastillon. But to the dismay of the brothers, as they drove to the nearby city, their Father announced that their uncle had been called to Arles for a Senate meeting.

Luckily Laurent had the attention span of an eight-year old and was soon fretting over Firefoot again. He didn’t like that his pony and Auguste’s horse—Balki—would be traveling with a separate caravan. “What if they forget to feed him? Firefoot likes to snack on apples before he sleeps.”

Aleron glanced up from his tablet with a look of amusement. In his smooth voice, he said, “I’m sure the stable-master will abide by the four-page instructions you wrote up with explicit detail for the care of your precious Firefoot.”

Laurent nodded in agreement with a serious face and then ducked back down to return to his book, _The Chastillon Equestrian Games: The Rider Who Brought Together a Nation._ Auguste hid a smile by glancing out the window. The scenery sped by quickly as they were driven unimpeded towards Chastillon. Although traffic entering the city was usually terrible during this time of the year on account of the Equestrian Games, the Royal Protection Command had cleared the roads for the royal procession. Auguste always felt a bit of guilt for this privilege but with the alternative being stuck in traffic for hours, he willfully accepted the preferential treatment.

Upon their arrival at the palace, they were greeted by the palace staff and shown to their rooms. The following morning, they would have an early start and so their father retired to the King’s Chambers and suggested that they sleep soon, too.

Auguste was given the Prince’s Suite in the large chateau, but the original royal family for whom the palace was built had only one son, so there was only one bedroom properly fashioned for a prince. The clever house staff however converted the suitably large study into a second bedroom for Laurent, and it had the benefit of an adjoining door. Laurent spent all night coming through that door, showing Auguste a fancy trinket he found in the other room, or sharing the late-night snack the kitchen staff had kindly left him—they left one for Auguste, too, but he had already eaten his, so if Laurent wanted to share, Auguste was going to stay mum. They had to leave Goose behind in Arles incase his presence spooked the horses, so after Laurent entered for the third time to show him a highlighted itinerary for tomorrow’s events, Auguste—eyes heavy with sleep—pulled back his covers and told Laurent to climb in.

“I’m not afraid, you know,” Laurent snuffled into Auguste’s side and yawned.

“Of course you’re not,” Auguste agreed pleasantly, wrapping an arm around his brother. With Laurent no longer running back and forth between the two rooms, they soon drifted off to sleep.

The following morning, they dressed in formal riding attire and were escorted to the Chastillon Springs State Park, which boasted beautiful mountainous hiking trails and a large campsite that substituted as the event grounds for the Equestrian Games and the annual Renaissance Faire. There, Laurent would become famously reunited with Firefoot—the media photo of a joyous boy prince hugging the mane of his pony would be printed and continuously distributed as the iconic photo representing the Equestrian Games for the next decade.

 As per tradition, the royal family would open the Games with a spirited ride through the grounds, waving and greeting the competitors and spectators. Although Laurent didn’t outwardly show it, Auguste knew his little brother was nervous about riding Firefoot in public for the first time. He knew Laurent’s skill in riding by now and had no worries, but admitted that perhaps their father had been right to refuse Laurent until he knew how to ride confidently.  The public, as expected, was drummed up with excitement over the news of the attendance of the second Veretian prince. As Laurent was still young, sightings of prince were far and in-between.

The attendance at the Games this year was even greater because everyone was excited to see their second Prince in person. Although Laurent attended traditional events in Arles, this was his first time in Chastillon and Laurent was just as eager to see the city as they were to see him. And as Auguste predicted, he needn’t be worried about the opening ride, because Laurent rode beautifully.

As they settled down in the Royal Dais to witness the first event of dressage, Laurent received compliments from many of the senators and special guests that sat with them. Auguste yearned to lean over and ruffle his brother’s hair to show his own proud affection, but he knew Laurent would pout at him for messing up his hair.

While Auguste was coming up with ways to escape the dais and sneak to the exhibition tent with Laurent, their father returned to them with a guest. The man was tall and heavy with muscle, with the dark-coloring of Akielon descent. “Boys, I want to introduce you to Deputy Commander Makedon, of the Akielon Armed Forces.”

Auguste accepted the polite kiss General Makedon brushed against the knuckles, and then watched as the general turned towards Laurent. Unlike other adults who found themselves in the presence of the smaller prince and were momentarily torn between bowing extremely low to reach his hand or crouching down—Makedon immediately dropped to his haunches, as if he was used to greeting a young prince. Considering what Auguste knew of the famous general from Delpha and his close relationship to the Akielon royal family, perhaps he was.

Makedon kissed the back of Laurent’s hand respectfully with a solemn face, but then broke out into a grin. “You’ve got quite the immaculate seat for your age, Your Highness.” He stood up and addressed their father. “You should be very proud, Your Majesty.”

Aleron nodded in agreement and sent Laurent a proud smile. Laurent’s face flushed and, out of view, he slipped his hand into Auguste’s hand behind their backs. Auguste gave him a tight squeeze in support while keeping a straight face.

“General Makedon, are you here as part of the Akielon envoy?” Auguste hadn’t seen him sitting with the other ambassadors during the opening ceremony.

“Oh, no,” Makedon chuckled. “King Theomedes knows better than to send _me_ on an ambassador visit.” He sent a dramatic wink at Laurent, and his brother giggled. “I don’t like to mix business with pleasure. I come every year to buy horses. I have a ranch in Delpha and when I’m home I like to ride.”

Auguste and Laurent traded glances. And then Laurent stood a little straighter, bit his lower lip and asked in a soft voice, “Are you going to the horse trade show next to the exhibition tent, General Makedon?”

“Yes. Do you have interest in horses, Your Highness?”

“Yes! I read a lot about horse care but have never seen it in person.” With a bright smile, Laurent said, “I would love to learn from your expertise.”

Auguste saw the moment their father caught on to their plan. He sighed. “General, ignore my scheming children. They’re trying to get you to take them with you.”

Makedon chuckled. “Is that such a bad thing? I can tell Prince Laurent really does have a bond with his pony; one cannot ride like that without spending hours with one’s horse. They can learn more from me at the horse show than sitting up here watching riders from afar.”

Auguste saw his father hesitate, and seized the window. “Jord will come with us, won’t he?” His personal guard gave a solemn nod from where he had been standing to the side. Auguste smiled on the inside; he could always rely on Jord.

Aleron frowned. “It would be disrespectful to the riders if you are not present for the award ceremony.”

“Oh, let the children play, Your Majesty. The Prince’s Guard will be with us the entire time. And this is still just the first event for dressage. The awarding won’t happen till tomorrow afternoon. We’ll be back before the sun sets.”

“Very well. Behave yourselves,” their father said sternly. But Auguste knew his father was only faking his displeasure. It had become a game every year for Auguste to come up with excuses to escape the dais. Usually it didn’t happen until his uncle came to the rescue, but this year with Laurent, they had wormed their way out exceptionally early.

Although the main event was the equestrian competition, the games had evolved to also become a faire celebrating all things horse-related. There were performances, carriage rides through a hedge maze, and a large exhibition tent that showcased the latest merchandise. The tent also hosted stalls upon stalls of local food. Currently, they were heading to the stables beside the large tent that housed the horses available for purchase. Annually, traders descended from every corner of the world to sell their horses—but most prized among them all were the horses bred up in the harsh terrain of the Vaskian Mountains.

This, General Makedon explained to them as they walked over. He was patiently indulgent with them, despite knowing full well they had used him to escape the dais. When it appeared as if Laurent was wandering off to look at the stall for custom saddles, General Makedon actually reached and grabbed his brother by the collar, but then nonverbally apologized by buying an affronted Laurent a candied apple. Laurent forgave him.

By the end of the day, Laurent was all happy smiles and sticky fingers. They had spent hours examining the horses—Makedon pointing out how to pick out the stallion from the herd, and how to inspect their ears for mites. Generally the traders would discourage buyers from feeding the herd but no one faulted the princes when they occasional snuck the horses some cubes of sugar.

When they returned to the palace, Laurent was still keyed up from the sugar high and decided he wanted to explore the entire chateau. Auguste, with a tired smile, drudged along behind him. He was happy that Laurent was having such a good time—even if all he wanted to do was soak away the smell of horse and drift off to sleep.

Still, the chateau was beautiful, and they eventually wandered into the gardens. From their balcony they had seen a hedge maze with a fountain in the center, and Laurent eagerly wanted to give the maze a try. They were prohibited from attempting the hedge maze at the faire because it was a potential safety risk with so many people, but Laurent had decided the maze here was a respectable substitute.

They found their way to the center with ease after asking the gardener to turn on the twinkling fairy lights that lined the hedges. The center clearing was bathed in a warm yellow glow from the lights and the fountain had water spilling out from the outstretched palms of a statue of Simone. Night-blooming flowers scented the air with a soft fragrance. Laurent ran up to the fountain and dipped his hand in the cool water, where several fish swam in lazy circles, unperturbed by the disturbance. It was quite beautiful. Auguste could imagine entertaining a lover here, meeting them in secret, shielded by the tall hedges.

The two brothers sat side by side in silence, admiring the view, resting on the fountain bench, relaxing as the tension from the long day eased from their bodies. Their reverie was broken by the sound of light footsteps running towards them. A few seconds later, it was not the guard who waited outside the maze, but a young boy of Laurent’s age with brown hair emerging from the opening at the hedge maze.

Auguste stood up and asked with a sharp voice, “Who are you?”

The boy had wide eyes and looked as shocked as they were. “I—I wasn’t expect—” He seemed to realize who he was speaking to and bowed low. “Your Highnesses!” He looked up with frantic, apologetic eyes and then ducked his head back down again when Auguste stayed silent.

“Who are you?” Laurent repeated the question. He stayed a step behind Auguste, a hand fisted in Auguste’s shirt.

“Erm.” The boy twisted the fabric of his loose shirt anxiously. “I live nearby. Sometimes when the lights are on, the Prince allows us to come to the garden and play. I’m sorry. I didn’t know Your Highness was staying at the palace.”

“Oh. Our uncle is in Arles right now,” Laurent said. He stepped out from behind Auguste and they both walked closer to the boy who began looking even more nervous.

“It’s okay,” Auguste tried to calm him. “You’re not going to get in trouble. I’m Auguste, and this is my brother Laurent. What’s your name?”

The boy bit his lip, and Auguste noticed how wide and green his eyes were. His pale skin reminded him of Laurent. The boy answered softly, “I’m Aimeric.”

Laurent smiled at him, and pulled out a piece of chocolate from his pocket. They were wrapped in foil with a different horse on each one and Laurent had possessively hoarded them after General Makedon purchased them. He greedily gave Auguste just one, and really, it wasn’t like Auguste wanted it. They weren’t actually shaped like horses, just the foil and they probably all melted in Laurent’s pocket anyway.

Laurent offered it to the boy. “Do you want the strawberry roan? It doesn’t taste like strawberry, just chocolate. I checked.”

With a cautious hand, Aimeric accepted the chocolate with a quick thank you. He kept the chocolate in his hand and didn’t eat it.

“What games do you play here? Will you teach me?” Laurent asked.

Aimeric shook his head. “I think I'd better go. I’m sorry Your Highnesses. Thank you for the chocolate!” Then he ran off almost as quickly as he came.

Laurent pouted. Auguste knew what he was thinking—he had given away his strawberry roan and Aimeric hadn’t even wanted to play with him. With determination, Laurent reached for his prized Falabella, the only one in the entire bag. “Auguste, do you want it?”

Auguste laughed. “If you insist, little brother.” Before Laurent could take it back, he unwrapped it—carefully because he knew Laurent would ask for the foil later—and popped it in his mouth. “But, before you ask if we can sneak into the stable and visit Firefoot, we must head to bed. We have another long day ahead of us tomorrow.”

Laurent stared at him, his mouth gaping. The betrayal.

Auguste laughed the entire way back to their rooms, the taste of sweet Falabella chocolate lingering in his mouth.


	5. nine

Auguste leaned against the door to Laurent’s bedroom where he could see his little brother fussing with their husky. “You know, when Senator Herode challenged us with a theme, I think it was with the intention that you wouldn’t dress up Goose and bring him along to this year’s festivities.”

Laurent stood up and crossed his arms over his bare chest. “Then he clearly picked the wrong theme because there may not be any Veretian heroes with dog companions, but there are many Akielon ones.” He was standing tall and confident, but Auguste could tell Laurent wasn’t entirely comfortable with wearing just the long, red draping skirt. Laurent had put down his pitchfork, and his other prop was Goose himself—with two plush dog heads coming out from his collar.

“The Guardian of Death with his bident and his loyal three-headed beast. How very fitting for All Hallow’s Eve.” Goose might have looked terrifying like his two fake faces if he didn’t have his tongue out, his tail wagging vigorously.

“Do you really think he had a three headed dog?” Laurent asked, crinkling his nose. “Must have been hard to feed.”

“Probably not, and I don’t think they were all brothers either, but it makes for a convenient matching costume.” Auguste was wearing a similarly draping skirt but his was a rich blue, with a cape over his shoulders, and a trident in his hand that symbolized him as the Guardian of the Seas, who ruled the oceans, commanded the Ancient Akielon fleets, and guarded against the creatures of the deep.  

“Why is your trident bigger?” Laurent pouted.

“Why, dear baby brother, it’s because _I_ _am_ bigger.” Auguste smiled charmingly. He lifted up his bag, which should have been empty, but secretly had a deep red cape tucked within. Laurent would refuse it now, because his Guardian didn’t wear a cape, but as the festivities continued late into the night with the legendary All Hallow’s Eve Ball, he knew Laurent would grow cold and want it. “Ready to go knockin’ for sweets?”

Laurent smiled, wide and genuine. “What do you think? Let’s go, Goose!”

They dashed out of the room and began their yearly tradition of knocking on the doors to the kitchens, the staff, and guardsman's quarters, and the outer barracks for the smiling workers to drop candy into the eager palms of the two princes. In all truthfulness, Auguste was a tad too old to still be partaking, at fifteen, but if he went, Laurent received double the candy, and Auguste lived to see that smile when he handed his younger brother the bag.

Their last stop within the palace was to the office of their resident physician, Dr. Paschal. He always made them promise (“cross your heart, Prince Laurent, there's a good lad”) to brush their teeth and rinse their mouths after consuming all the candy. They would complain and whine, but obeyed every year because Dr. Paschal had this amazing recipe for a traditional Veretian sweetmeat that not even the cooks at the palace managed to replicate, and he only made it once a year—during All Hallow’s Eve.

They were soon done “plundering the palace”—for this was a quest, like in a game—and escaped into the courtyard, where small tents and booths were set up. Each table was manned by a representative from various governmental departments, and they all eagerly awaited the children. There were other activities scattered throughout the courtyard: face-painting, pumpkin carving, and spiced apple cider for all.

Although the inner palace staff only gave candy to the two princes, the Royal Palace All Hallow’s Eve Candy Extravaganza was an annual tradition. Held in the courtyard, it collected officials from every government agency, who were eager to distribute candy to the children of Arles. There were also fun games and activities for children and parents alike, and offered a great opportunity for parents to engage with their officials and ask questions on the current state affairs. After the two princes departed, the event was open to families who won tickets through a lottery system and lasted until the All Hallow’s Eve Ball.

Laurent passed his candy bag to the dutiful Goose who held it between his teeth, and with one hand he held Goose’s leash and with his other grabbed onto Auguste’s. “Let’s go!” he shouted happily.

Auguste could hear the soft giggles from the cooks who passed them, putting out more caramel apples on the refreshments table. He couldn’t suppress his smile either and willingly allowed himself to be led. They always started with the department that gave the best candy the year before, and Laurent had decided that was the Department of Agriculture. Auguste remembered that the Department of Commerce and the Department of Foreign Affairs were tied for second.

“Aw, Your Highnesses look amazing. And here is the ferocious Goose! I have a treat for you, boy!” It appeared that the Department of Agriculture was determined to keep their title, because they procured a small cup of whipped cream for Goose. Goose demolished it in a few short seconds and then had his tongue hanging out, eager for more. Laurent hugged Goose with the largest smile on his face, even smearing some whipped cream on his own face, which the husky immediately licked clean.

They rushed over to the other tents, where other officials were eagerly calling out for their princes to visit them. Before each tent was a wooden board that served as the _knockin’ post_ for the children to knock and request for sweets. Although there was no real prize, every department fought for the right to declare themselves’ “The Princes’ Favorite”.

“Hello, my dear boys.”

Auguste and Laurent both did a double-take from knocking on the board. They were at the table for the Department of State and standing before them was the head of the department, the Chief of Protocol, as well as a member of the Senate and commonly referred to as the Prince of Chastillon. Usually he was too busy to attend, let alone assist the table during All Hallow’s Eve.

“Uncle!” they both chimed in greeting.

Auguste asked, “Are you not busy today, Uncle? You’re usually away at Chastillon during this time of year.”

“There was some matters that called me to Arles this week, so I thought I would stay for All Hallow’s Eve.” He looked at their costumes, especially lingering his gaze on Laurent and Goose. “Guardians of the Sea and Death. Very well-done. I’m sure our Akielon neighbors will be so happy when they hear about this.”

“Will you be at the Ball tonight?” Auguste asked.

“I dearly hope so! I’ve missed it for so many years. But it’ll depend on how tired I am after handing out candy to all the children today. It’s supposed to be a particularly busy afternoon, with this warm weather.”  

“You should join us at the markets instead!” Laurent piped up. “We get to judge the best pie.”

Their uncle chuckled and looked at Laurent while replying, “If I’d known you two would have been wearing these costumes, I would have dressed up as an Akielon hero myself and joined you. I’m not too out of shape,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Alas, I have already committed myself here, and the children of Arles need me. Perhaps next time, you two can persuade your father to lessen my workload this time of the year, and I will be able to join you.”

Auguste opened his mouth to agree when suddenly Goose started barking loudly. It was surprising; Goose almost never made disruptive noises. Laurent bent down to calm him.

Auguste checked his phone; it was time for them to meet up with their parents for the rest of the day. “We must be off now, Uncle. We’ll see you later tonight!”

They waved good-bye to their uncle. Auguste shook off a weird prickling sensation on his neck, like he was being stared at, choosing instead to listen to Laurent as he excitedly discussed the rest of the day’s events. This was the one time of year when Laurent didn’t feel the pressure of the media, as they followed their family around to various events in Arles. The royal family would select the best pie, the largest pumpkin, and come up with their best excuses to avoid tasting the spiciest chili.

If any reporter got too close, Auguste and Laurent had a secret plan of attack, to send Goose snapping at their ankles. They traded grins, both eager to try it out. Goose had his mouth open like he was smiling in anticipation, too.


	6. ten

The brothers’ love for dressing up was not isolated to one day of the year, to the dismay of the Secret Service. Although Auguste was in many ways the perfect golden prince adored by the public and always the face of charm and class, he had his moments of rebellion.

It was almost always spurred on by his inability to say no to the far more devious Laurent.

Laurent enjoyed living in the palace, but he _loved_ being able to walk through the streets of Arles unnoticed and untailed. As a prince, and to his displeasure, his every movement was carefully monitored by the Secret Service ordered to protect him. And with the advent of phone cameras, it was difficult for him to enjoy being a carefree adolescent without the media catching sight of him and posting it on the latest gossip outlet.

Thus, Laurent made it into a game for Auguste and him to escape their Secret Service bodyguards and take a trip around their capital, any chance they could. It usually began with Laurent finding a new bakery he wanted to try, or a desire to visit their national zoo without shutting down the entire park for their private use.

On this particular occasion, Laurent wanted to visit the local farmer’s market. Auguste raised a curious brow, “I didn’t know you were suddenly such a fan of organic greens, Laurent.”

Laurent smiled. “Charls the Renowned Veretian Beekeeper is showcasing his raw honey. Maybe we can go apple picking after, too!”

“You know, if you like honey, we can always go to Akielos. Their honey is world renown. We can probably go to one of their honey expos this year.”

Laurent’s face blanched. “I said I’m not stepping foot in Akielos again.”

Auguste chuckled, “One little burn and you swear off an entire country. You should have come to the Akielon Games in Ios this year. Prince Torveld asked about you, he wants a rematch in chess.”

Laurent shoved his hands in his pockets. “I’ll send him my username, he can find me online. You know I don’t like all the cameras. Besides, you’re the one they’re trying to take pictures of. _Crown Prince_ ,” Laurent said cheekily, as he began rifling through his closet.

“It’s not just the media at those event. Our allies are there, too, who you’ll have to interact with eventually. Prince Kastor and Prince Damianos inquired after you. They’re starting to think you don’t like them.”

“It's not that. I just don’t like their country.” Laurent gestured out the window to clear blue skies. “Their sun is not normal. We should send our Department of Energy there; try to harness some of that solar power. It’s not normal.”

“You’re just too pale. Get out into the sun more.” Auguste sat down on the floor and Goose began to wander over, sniffing him for treats.

“I’m not you, I don’t tan; I just burn. It’s my genes.” Laurent’s voice was muffled as he stuck his head in his wardrobe.

Auguste gave him a bewildered look. “You’re ten, how do you know anything about genetics.”

“I read,” Laurent quipped. “You should try it some time, instead of swinging swords and posing in front of cameras all day.”

 “You are such a cheeky brat,” Auguste said, with immeasurable fondness. “Have you figured out what you’re going to wear?”

“What do you think?!” Laurent walked out of closet and posed in front of Auguste, whose jaw dropped slightly. Laurent had on a knee length blue dress and a pair of old sneakers. His distinctive blonde hair was tucked away in a grey beanie, leaving just some bangs framing his face. No one would see this little girl and assume she was the Prince of Vere in disguise.

“Do I even want to know where you got the dress from?”

“I traded for it from the cook’s daughter,” Laurent answered distractedly as he messed with his bangs that poked out from his knit hat. “I think I should get a wig soon, my hair is too recognizable. Do you think I’d look good as a brunette?”

Auguste raised an eyebrow. “Who are you trying to charm, Laurent?”

Laurent shot him a smile, and fluttered in eyes in a mockery of flirtatiousness. “Why, Charls of course!”

Auguste snorted. “If you want free honey, Laurent, you only have to whip off your hat and announce your identity. No need to sell yourself.”

“Where’s the fun in that?” Laurent handed Auguste an unadorned blue cap that was more than capable of shielding Auguste’s shorter blonde hair. With a pair of shades and some plain clothes, they would be able to blend into the crowd.

A few hours later, with their lips still sweet from the honey-tasting and a bag of apples swinging from their arms, Auguste and Laurent were running, ducking into side streets trying to hide from the Secret Service. They ducked behind a door that was open into the alleyway, and tried to catch their breath. A few moments later, a concerned occupant of the house stuck her head out, gave the two of them a suspicious look and shut the door, exposing them once more to the alley.

By some miracle, their guard, dressed in plainclothes, stopped right at the opening of the alleyway and hadn't spotted them yet. They could have inched away. But Laurent grinned at Auguste and with a twinkle in his eye, kicked over the trashcan causing a loud rattle, alerting the guard to their presence. Laurent sprinted off with a look of pure mischief, and Auguste hurried after him with an exasperated look.

They ran through narrow alleyways that had more history to them than the entire lineage of Veretian royalty, the dust kicking up around them as they dodged bin and brick. Their heavy steps and breathing scared away alley cats and sent birds resting on the tops of buildings soaring back to the skies. They had long lost the tailing guards but it was the thrill of the run, escaping their duties, running to nowhere, that kept them moving.

Laurent finally paused, pressing his hands to his thighs, bent over to catch his breath. Auguste wasn’t any better, his heart was pounding, their faces were flushed but the run had made them feel alive. From the corner of his eye, Auguste saw Jord step behind the shadow of a giant sign offering discount haircuts. Making sure Laurent was still breathing heavily to his feet, Auguste gave Jord a subtle nod. Before they left the palace, Auguste had switched out his signet ring for one with a tracker given to him by the Protection Command. The Secret Service liked to play along, but Auguste knew better than to truly disappear. For as long as he could manage it though, he would like to let Laurent continue believing they had truly escaped and had been free.

“Look Auguste!” Laurent pointed at the building they had stopped in front of. On a side street off the main road and next to the vibrant modern hair salon was a rather dull building, with off-white walls and dark windows. A small sign near the doorway identified it as _Simone’s Guardian Home_. Posted underneath on printed paper was a second message: _Volunteers and donations welcome. Please ring bell._ Laurent turned to his brother, his face lit up.“They’re still looking for us. We can go inside and help!”

Auguste smiled. “Let’s give it a try. See if they need some extra hands.” He’d heard about orphanages like these throughout the country. Although state-funded, they were often neglected in the budget process, and relied on donations and volunteers from citizens for help. Auguste had never enjoyed the holiday public relations photo-ops that captured him helping the needy, but then scurried him away before he could actually do any good. He was a poster boy: good for promoting the cause but not actually serving it. Now that he was parading around as nobody important, he could actually help.

Laurent rang the bell, and they waited until a frazzled woman opened the door, a child on one hip, and an older girl holding her leg shyly. “There you two are! An hour late and I’ll bet you still want school credit.” She walked back in, leaving Auguste and Laurent standing at the door in mild shock. She turned back to them and said with a snappish voice, “Well? Don’t just stand there. Come in! The babies are just waking from their nap and they need to eat!”

They followed her through a dimly lit hallway and into a more brightly lit room, but coming from it was a cacophony of cries. It was a scene of minor chaos, orderlies running from one crying baby to the next. Older children were helping by handing out bottles to the attendants. The lady who brought them there pushed them in and then walked out, probably to put down the child she had been holding.

An older gentleman, wearing a bright t-shirt emblazoned with the words ‘VOLUNTEER,’ had picked up a crying babe from the crib, turned, saw the brothers, and pointed straight at them. “You! Girl! Come here and hold him. No, no, not like that. Here, sit. You’re not going to be able to carry him long standing up.” Laurent sat down as instructed and the man moved Laurent’s arms until the baby was properly supported and secured in his arms. “Hold the bottle to his lips, don’t stop until he finishes it. Unless he tries to throw up on you. You got it? No questions? Good.”

Laurent obeyed, but only because he was too stunned to speak. Auguste was equally amazed. No one had ever spoken to them in that manner before. It was refreshing, if not amusing. And Laurent looked beyond adorable, cradling the tiny baby, holding the bottle to his lips with a look of complete fear on his face. The baby was fragile, but Laurent looked as if he would kill the baby if he moved a single muscle.

“Now you, handsome. You’re big and strong. Go help bring in more bottles. Through that door. Off you go!” The man gestured to a door. “Come on, they’re hungry and crying.”

So Auguste went, the next hour passing by quickly. He was ordered around by various attendants to fetch towels and other heavy boxes. Then he was ushered into the toddlers’ room, given a stool, a towel, and told to help them wash their hands for dinner. He had often helped Laurent with this task when Laurent was that age, but Laurent had been one toddler and was never unruly—unlike these children, who were numerous and full of uncontained energy. Auguste had never ended up completely soaked from handwashing before.

One of the younger volunteers, a young woman who looked about twenty, gave him a dry towel to wipe his face. She blushed at little, and Auguste looked down to see that his wet shirt had become quite form-fitting, and his face flushed in return. “Oh no, here comes Nicaise,” she whispered. Auguste raised his brow in question. “If he stabs you with a fork,” she paused and giggled, “stab him back.”

By the time Auguste returned to the infants’ room with a dry VOLUNTEER shirt, Laurent had finished up feeding them and was playing peek-a-boo. Auguste wished he could take a picture. “Lau—”, he started and caught himself. “Lauren!

Laurent turned to him, an undecipherable look on his face. But he walked over, looked up at him, and asked, “Why didn’t I get a shirt?”

Auguste chuckled, “Let’s go to the office and get you one, shall we? And we might also want to let them know that the two volunteers they were expecting didn't actually shown up. Just in case they need to keep track.”

They exited the Home with an extra shirt for Laurent, an apology from the less frazzled matron now that the late afternoon rush was handled, and a promise from the brothers that they would revisit. The matron promised a letter of recommendation for college if they accumulated a hundred volunteer hours.

As they stood outside the building to discuss their plans to return home, they heard the telltale click of a paparazzi camera.

Laurent frowned, “Auguste. I don’t want them to think we were here. Then we’ll get mobbed by the press every time we come back and I’d like to return.”

Auguste began walking towards the main road and Laurent followed. “Hmm. I have an idea, but it depends on if you'll be willing to sneak in and visit me when father punishes me for it.”

“Of course I would!” Laurent replied instantly. “But is there a plan that doesn’t involve getting punished?”

Auguste smiled, “As you said this morning, where’s the fun in that?” He pulled off his cap and placed it into the bag of apples they were still carrying from the market that morning. His blonde hair glittered in the late afternoon sun. If they wanted a photo, he’d give them a better one. He sent a quick text to Jord.

They walked into a small diner at the end of the street and sat by the windows that overlooked the movie theatre across the road. “Is there a film you wouldn’t mind _not_ watching, Laurent?”

“That one.” His brother pointed to the poster where an Akielon man and Veretian woman stood in a romantic embrace, looking into each other's eyes dramatically. “'The heir of an Akielon business magnate has his heart stolen by a young Veretian schoolteacher. He must choose between giving up his inheritance and living in Vere with his true love, or staying wealthy in Akielos and be lonely for life,'” he read from his phone.

Auguste chuckled. “No romance for you?” He ordered two milkshakes for them from the waitress, who was looking at them suspiciously.

“That’s just dumb. We have open borders. Why are they perpetuating the stereotype that national identity prohibits one’s freedom? Why doesn’t the schoolteacher just move to Akielos and teach there?”

Auguste threw back his head and laughed. “For probably the same reason you won’t go to Akielos, little brother. The sun’s too strong.” Laurent pouted at him and Auguste kept laughing, even as Jord casually sat down in the neighboring booth and handed Auguste a bag.

Laurent visibly deflated at being caught. “Jord,” he grumbled in greeting.

“Your Highness,” Jord replied with a low voice, so as not to be heard. When the waitress returned with their milkshakes, Jord ordered a coffee.

“What’s in the bag?” Laurent asked.

“Next step in our plan," Auguste said. "Here are your clothes. Go into the restroom and change. I’ll change after you come out.”

While Laurent stepped away, Jord murmured to his prince, “You should leave the scheming to Prince Laurent, Your Highness. His plans usually don’t involve getting caught.”

Auguste chuckled, “But that’s the point, Jord.” He got up to change when Laurent returned, no longer in a dress. There was a couple by the bathroom door that looked a bit mystified—clearly confused by their antics.  

When Auguste stepped back into the booth, he noticed two empty glasses and Laurent with his eyes screwed shut. He had a pained look on his face—the incriminating look of someone who had stolen his benevolent brother’s freezing cold milkshake and drank it too quickly. “Karma, Laurent,” he chastised.

With his eyes still shut, Laurent stuck out his tongue.

“Alright, you ready for the plan?” Laurent opened his eyes in rapt attention. “Now, if we don’t want that reporter to publish the photo of us outside the Home, what we need is a _diversion_. Just play along.”

Auguste paid for their drinks, placed their changed clothes on top of the bag with the apples, and walked across the street to the movie theatre. Once settled down into their seats, and as the lights began to dim, Auguste rustled through the bag until he pulled out an apple, and handed it to Laurent. With a whisper, he asked, “How loud can you bite?”

Ten minutes later, they were pulled from their seats by a disgruntled theatre manager, who scolded them in the middle of theatre lobby, just as the Secret Service and reporters he anonymous tipped off arrived.

The following morning, their father entered the dining room with a pinched look on his face and threw the latest gossip rag on the table. There was no picture of them outside the Home and Auguste traded successful smiles with Laurent. Instead, the newspaper read:

SCANDALOUS – CROWN PRINCE AUGUSTE CAUGHT SNEAKING FOOD INTO THEATRE – SAYS HE PREFERS ORGANIC APPLES TO GREASY POPCORN _Is this teenage rebellion just the start, has Vere’s Golden Prince been tarnished? Turn to page six to see Prince Auguste and Prince Laurent’s shocking movie choice_

Auguste wanted to point out that it was better than when Crown Prince Damianos was caught kissing the son of a Senate member whilst the teen's mother was holding a press conference, but he held his tongue. Aleron punished him by removing Auguste’s excursion privileges for one month, and making him draft reports of the weekly Senate meetings. It wasn’t so bad—Laurent visited him and brought him apples.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> When your prince is so golden, the worst thing he gets in trouble for is sneaking healthy food into the theatre...


	7. eleven

For the sake of normality and an excuse to take a cross-country road trip with Laurent (and his guards), Auguste was touring some of the top universities in Vere. It wasn't a wholly necessary trip, because his father, his grandfather, and every father, uncle, aunt and cousin to ever hail from the Veretian royal line attended the prestigious University of Arles—conveniently located near downtown Arles, and only a quick twenty minute drive from the royal palace.

For higher education, some chose to pursue a masters or a doctorate at other universities, but for the bachelor’s degree, it was tradition to attend the University of Arles, and the royals were nothing if not traditional. Queen Hennike, for instance, had pursued her masters in environmental management at Skarva University’s School of Forestry and Environmental Science—her culminating thesis on the effectiveness of wind and solar energy made waves towards sustainable energy in the Veretian Congress.

Because Auguste had allowed Laurent to plan most of their itinerary, they had traversed the western side of the country first, visiting Chastillon and Fortaine and all the universities in between, before ending in the ancient, border city of Acquitart. They arrived just in time for the annual Skate For Life, a 24-hour fundraising event, with all proceeds going towards biomedical research for childhood diseases. As Acquitart bordered all four nations, it was a very popular charity event, often attended by ambassadors and supported by the Veretian royal family as an international effort.

They arrived at the castle just in time to open the event along with Prince Torveld of Patras, two ambassadors from Akielos and their children, and a diplomat from Vask. Although technically still a castle on the outside with its classical fourteenth century Veretian design, the inside had been gutted out to function as the headquarters for the state-funded Acquitart Institute for Biomedical Sciences. It was the leading research center on hereditary diseases and often received much press due to the beautiful building but highly secure labs. The exclusivity of the castle drew in many tourists for the iconic photo with the unmoving guard posted at the front. Auguste knew however, that all this press was purposefully manufactured to serve a distraction for the much more secretive Center of Disease Control that was isolated away in the wilds of the Toutaine highlands.

“Thank you as always for inviting us to this wonderful event, Your Highness,” said Kali, one of the Akielon ambassadors. “We heard you were touring colleges." She gestured to the tall man standing next to her, the other Akielon ambassador. "Titos and I were just about to do the same. I'm hoping my son, Kallias, follows in my footsteps and enters into the State Department, and I know Titos wishes the same for his son, Erasmus." She nodded to where the two young men, one dark haired and the other with lighter hair, were lacing their skates. "It's an honor to be able to serve your country while also granted the opportunity to work with high-esteemed royalty, like yourself!"

Auguste followed her gaze. The two friends seemed shy, but comfortable with each other, which wasn’t surprising considering they must have grown up together, due to their parents’ work. He smiled back graciously at Kali, but ignored her rather heavy handed attempt at introducing the two young men. For their part, Kallias and Erasmus didn’t seem too interested in rubbing elbows with royalty—Laurent was a few feet away from them lacing on his own skates and they hadn’t even glanced in his direction.

Soon the event started, and as per tradition, the royal representatives were the first to enter the ice. Auguste and Laurent had grown up skating, so they were naturals, but it was far more amusing to watch the Akielon ambassadors and their children do their hesitant walk. Even Prince Torveld entered the rink with shaky legs.

“Auguste,” Laurent called out. He was a few steps ahead of him and had turned so he was skating backwards gracefully. “Want to race?”

“What’s the prize?” Auguste countered. They were currently doing a slow lap around the outdoor rink, and the brisk air of autumn was refreshing. It was quite beautiful; they were surrounded by mountains and in the shadows of a beautiful castle.

“Loser buys hot chocolate?” Laurent suggested.

Auguste had been paying this whole trip. “You don’t have any money.”

“I know!” Laurent yelled back as he started speeding away, the little cheater that he was.

The crowd around them cheered as Auguste began picking up speed, trying to catch up to his little brother. His long legs soon gave him the advantage and he began catching up to Laurent, who glanced back, saw his progress, and darted forward even faster, at the expense of dodging between the two Akielon ambassadors’ sons. Kallias and Erasmus were clearly shocked by the sudden appearance of Laurent and stumbled, looking as if they were going to fall. Auguste sped up hoping to catch them before they did, but Torveld appeared just in time and grabbed both of them, helping them steady their feet.

As Auguste skated past, he could hear the twenty-six- year- old Prince say to them, “Why don’t you two stick with me? We’ll leave the speeding to the two Veretian Princes,” as he guided them towards the edge of the rink.

He caught up to Laurent at their imaginary finish line and Laurent whooped in victory. “I win,” he crowed.

“You cheated,” Auguste declared. "And you almost knocked down the ambassadors' sons."

Laurent gave a childish face and shrugged. "Prince Torveld was there; they didn't _actually_ fall." His face then brightened. "And it's not cheating if there were no rules to begin with. Should’ve made it clear,” Laurent chided. Laurent would grow up to be a terrifying legislator, Auguste thought in sudden realization.

The rink got more crowded as the participants began joining the ice. The purpose of the event was to always have a member of your team on the ice for a full twenty-four hours, representing the non-stop efforts to combat childhood illnesses. Laurent and Auguste were graciously added to the team of event coordinators and as they stepped off the ice, two of their team members took their places.

They approached the cafe for the promised hot chocolate and Auguste saw that Torveld was sitting there with his two new friends as well. They looked rather enraptured at whatever story he was telling, which meant they weren't at all upset at having almost been plowed down by the younger Prince of Vere.

“I don’t think they’re going to be interested in Veretian Studies anymore,” Auguste murmured to Laurent as he paid for their drinks, and Laurent laughed.

The following day, they arrived at Acquitart University and were greeted by the University President himself. Although the media would have liked to cause much more fanfare, Auguste had insisted on maintaining some degree of normalcy. Still, for protection’s sake, the Prince’s Guard was sent ahead to secure the campus, and Auguste drove himself (having recently acquired his driver's license) and Laurent to the main university, Jord in the back seat. In a non-descript car behind them was Orlant and Huet.

The President and the Dean of the College took the two brothers on the grand tour—the campus, as expected, was beautiful. Originally erected in the previous century, the dormitories and academic buildings were of the old-Veretian style, high arched ceilings and large color-glazed windows, interspersed between massive magnolia trees. Some students were napping in hammocks under the shade, and Auguste watched on with interest. Another group of young women were having a picnic on the expansive grass quad and tried peering inconspicuously at the royal arrival. There was no doubt that within minutes, the entire campus would know they were there.

The President of the University handed them a folder. “Your Highnesses, here is a list of current lectures this afternoon that you may go and sit-in so as to experience the quality of the education offered here. The professors have already been informed that you may be arriving.”

Auguste turned to Laurent. “Is there a class you’re interested in? Since I picked at Fortaine last.”

His brother, already the natural scholar, scrutinized the list, before selecting “Themes in World Literature: Sacrifice and Duty.” The description read: _Delve into ancient iconic works from Patras, Akielos, and Vask that shares common themes of ‘sacrifice and duty’ with prominent Veretian texts._

“An excellent choice, Your Highness!” the President exclaimed. “Our comparative literature seminars exemplify our standard of education—we are particularly known for our small-classes sizes and student-teacher ratio."

Auguste smiled graciously, despite having heard the same spiel verbatim at the last seven universities. He gave the same courteous pause, and the president continued. “Also, if you would consider our esteemed graduate programs—” And there it was, the promotion of their graduate schools. Although every president knew Auguste had a duty to attend University of Arles first, it was never too early for recruitment. Auguste continued smiling.

“—our sociology department is the best in the nation. Please accept this small gift from our university,” The President handed Auguste a book, titled _Segregation in Unified Territory._ “It was published recently by two of our respected faculty, and studies nationalist identity formation through the use of memory, emotions, and historical myth narratives.”

Auguste let his award-winning smile go on for a bit too long, but this was why he brought his incredibly bright brother along. Laurent followed up politely, “So they researched border tensions in Delfeur?” He had grabbed the book from Auguste, and was studying the cover.

The President nodded, and regarded Laurent directly. “Yes, in order to see what sustains them despite the peace, and also to see if that kind of ideology is likely to spread, Your Highness. It is a fascinating read. I hope you will enjoy the book.”

They bid the President farewell and walked with their guards to check out the dining options for lunch. Although fairly impressed by the number of options, they already had a private table at the campus restaurant. They were situated on the small patio that overlooked the library, and Auguste and Laurent watched as students drudged towards the impressive building with bleak looks on their face.

“That will be you soon, Auguste,” Laurent said, after tasting his sandwich and wiping his mouth. No one would catch them being uncouth.

“Not you?” Auguste teased. “A few more years and you’ll be in the same boat.”

“Of course not,” Laurent shot back. “I’d never let anything as trifle as a paper bring me to such despair.”

As Auguste nonchalantly stole a sweet potato fry off his brother’s plate, he said, “Somehow I just know that to be true.”

Auguste knew he had not been exaggerating about Laurent’s intelligence when, thirty minutes later, they found themselves sitting along the edge of a classroom with a large conference table in the center, students sitting filling the seats around it, participating in an in-depth discussion of ancient Akielon literature. Auguste tried to be spirited, but the room was blessed—cursed—with comfortable chairs that were designed just for him to slump down and doze off. With lifetime practice of looking attentive while spacing out during Senate meetings, Auguste managed to look rapt in focused attention, nodding at the right moments. It often wasn’t an acknowledging nod, but his head jerking to wakefulness all while his eyes were wide open.

Laurent, on the other hand, was sitting next to him, so young compared to the rest of the room, his eyes attentive to the professor, his legs just barely touching the floor. From the corner of his eye, Auguste could see the students sending them curious looks—and then the look of excitement upon recognition, followed by the expected nudge and a whisper to their neighbor. Laurent held himself poised and didn't respond to the extra-attention.

“Now, continuing with our theme of romantic classical texts, I’m sure many of you are excited that today we will be analyzing _My Exalted_ , commonly acknowledged as the most tragic love letter in the history of Akielos.”

Auguste watched a few girls smile eagerly. When one of the girls with long brown hair turned around and saw him watching, Auguste teasingly gave her a wink and she blushed.  Keeping an easy smile on his face, Auguste focused on the translated copy of the letter that the professor had kindly lent to them. It was a required reading in Akielon secondary education—a final letter detailing the tragic love story between an Akielon king and a Veretian ruler.

Laurent leaned over to him with an eager smile, and whispered excitedly, “I learned about this when we covered Akielon history in class last year. I saw the King’s portrait back in the palace, so I read up on it!”

They had attended the same private school, so surely Auguste had been taught about this, too. “Right, of course,” Auguste agreed.

“Now, I believe one of you have been assigned to give a quick presentation on the history. Fleur?”  

A young woman walked to the front of the room with minor trepidation on her face, but proceeded with her presentation quickly after taking a deep breath. “This is a tale of the fateful relationship between two star-crossed lovers that spawned a romance that could not survive the hatred between two countries," she said, with no small amount of drama. "This letter was discovered on the body of a dead Akielon royal messenger on the battlefield that ended the War of Acquitart two hundred years ago. For decades, scholars wondered about the writer and the recipient, as the letter was addressed to _My Exalted_ and signed with the initials, _AV_.”

The class watched as she projected an image of the original letter, written in Akielon. Auguste had never seen it himself, but remembered it was on display at the Akielon Royal Museum in Ios.

“This letter was perceived as the reverent confessions of an Akielon soldier to his Exalted. However, the phrasing that they were of _opposite sides on the battlefield_ bewildered scholars, and kept the interest in this letter alive. Some academics believed the letter was written by a Veretian soldier who had somehow caught the attention of the Akielon king, despite the letter being written in Akielon.

“It was not until the passing of the Veretian Queen Consort and when her autobiographical letters were released to the public decades later that both Veretian and Akielon scholars made the connection. The Queen Consort's letters spoke of the infidelity of her husband, the King, and of how she had never won his heart, and was wed to him solely to bridge the alliance between Patras and Vere during the War of Acquitart. She spoke of burning many letters found in the King’s study, and of sending away an Akielon rider that arrived with a message for the King on the eve of the final battle.”

Fleur pulled up images of the two renowned monarchs. The middle-aged Veretian King had blonde hair and a somber face, his portrait painted only a year before his death from tuberculosis at the age of forty. The picture of the Akielon King showed a more youthful face, with dark, almond-shaped eyes, the painting having been commissioned early during his short reign.

“The world soon realized the _My Exalted_ letter was nothing short of a tragic romance. There are no records of any meetings between the Veretian king and the Akielon king, but from the Queen's letters, scholars now know there was a collection of letters between them, now lost and destroyed—with this letter being the last remnant of their love. It is believed that the Veretian king never had the chance to read this letter before the fateful clash in which he slayed the Akielon king on the battlefield, for Vere, ending the five-year war.”

Auguste remembered this story more clearly now. He preferred, for himself, stories of Queen Augustine the Brave, his namesake, or of Sir Aillard, who crossed the continent in search of a rare herb for his ailing Princess. But Laurent was sitting in rapt attention to the presentation, nodding along as the words Fleur said matched his own understanding and knowledge of the letter. This story made Auguste glad that he and his brother lived in a time when they could marry for love, and would never have to make the sacrifice of choosing one’s country over their happiness.

The class clapped politely as Fleur ended the presentation and the professor returned to the front of the room. “Good job. Now, we will begin our discussion—”

Auguste started zoning out soon after that. Not having read the letter in its entirety beforehand, he had difficulty following along with the group, and if he had to confess it, literary analysis was not his favorite topic. Laurent, however, was taking notes on the margins of the paper.

“—anybody? Perhaps from some of the students who have yet to speak up?”

The professor flickered his eyes from Auguste, to a few other students who had clearly wavered in their attention. Not that Auguste would have been able to answer even if he had heard the question. After another ten seconds of deafening silence, Laurent spoke up.

“The original Veretian translation of the letter’s salutations was incorrect. It used the Veretian term for monarch, changing _My Exalted_ to _My King_ ,” Laurent answered smoothly. His voice was unwavering, and his transition from Veretian to Akielon was flawless. “This translation was considered weak, because it disregarded the importance of that term in Akielon culture. Akielons naturally bowed down to their monarchs and were subservient to them, so for the Akielon king to address his lover as _Exalted_ , granted them equal status, and in some sense, suggested that he was lowering himself in deference. The nuances of this subtext is lost if the translators kept the original translation of _My King_.”

The class was shocked, for the most part. _Wow_ , Auguste saw one of the students murmur to her neighbor. The professor managed to control his stunned face and gave Laurent an impressive look.  “Very astute analysis, Prince Laurent. Thank you for the excellent answer.” He sent a disappointed look to the rest of his class, basically saying, _you’ve just been bested by an eleven-year-old._  

At the end of class, the professor stopped to talk to Laurent, probably letting him know about their literature programs because it was _never_ too early to start recruiting, and the brown hair girl he’d winked at walked over.

“Your Highness,” she smiled sweetly, and curtsied. How cute. “If you’re interested in coming, there’s a party tonight down by Silas Creek. It starts around nine. Just follow the noise and you’ll find it. Hope to see you there!” She scurried back to the group of girls waiting for her by the door and they giggled as she returned.

Later, as they dined at a local restaurant— _best milkshakes on this side of the Vere!_ the sign boasted—Auguste set his utensils down and wiped his mouth. “Laurent.”

His brother blinked at him, his piece of chicken halfway to his mouth. But quickly noting the seriousness of his brother's tone, Laurent put down his fork and sat up in attention.

“I’m going to need you to stay with Jord tonight. I’ve been invited,” Auguste paused, “to a college party.”

Laurent dropped his jaw and instantly whined. “What, no! Auguste—I want to come!”

“Oh, no. Mother will never forgive me if you saw something there that you are too young for.”

Laurent slouched down, and looked downtrodden. “Well...I don’t want you to get in trouble.”

Auguste felt a pang of guilt. He was pushing his younger brother aside because a beautiful college girl invited him to a party, and Laurent was more concerned that their mother might punish him.

“You should go,” Laurent sighed. “I guess I’ll just stay in the library with Jord. If I can’t go, I at least want you to have a good time.” He bit his lower lip and picked up his fork again, stirring his peas but not putting them in his mouth.

Auguste wanted to leap across the table and give Laurent a hug. He didn’t want his brother to feel sad—this was a trip for them! To enjoy Vere away from the palace before Auguste had to leave for college. He was going to tell Laurent he had changed his mind. They’ll go explore Acquitart together instead—

Hold on. Laurent hated peas.

“Oh, you are having me on, little brother,” Auguste accused.

Laurent looked up, his blue eyes watery, his lip trembling. “No?” He was the image of innocence, and if Auguste hadn’t grown up with Laurent , he'd never have been able to detect the small twitch at the corner of his mouth. When Auguste continued to look at him unimpressed, Laurent knew he'd been caught, and he sat up again, pushing his plate away. He shrugged, “If you don’t try, you’ll never succeed.”

As they left the restaurant, Auguste said to Jord waiting for them a few tables away, “I’ll need you to stay with Laurent in the library to protect his virtue.”

Jord peered at him from above his shades, a flat expression on his face. “What about _your_ virtue? Prince Laurent ordered me to protect it.”

Auguste flushed, looking over at Laurent who had already climbed into the backseat of their town car and was giving him a cheeky wave. “Don’t you worry about my virtue,” he muttered.

Jord chuckled. “We’re not going to stop you, Your Highness. But you do need to have an escort. We’ve arranged for you to go with Huet. He’s young, got nice ankles.”

Auguste sent him an odd look. What does that even mean, and what does the Prince’s Guard get up to in their spare time? Perhaps he should start supervising. He knew Laurent spent a lot of time with them when he was bored and Auguste was away.

Auguste consented to this shadow because there would be no getting out of being tailed altogether—he should consider himself lucky that Laurent had given in so easily after only one attempt. Their father called Laurent spoiled and bratty for the times when he didn't get his way, but Laurent didn't actually whine or complain like any ordinary child. No—he schemed until you thought you had won, and then he would turn on the lights and you realized you were just a pawn on his chessboard the entire time. Auguste had played his game for ten years; it was about time he defeated his brother.

His studious little brother would not have enjoyed the party anyway, with scantily clad girls stumbling over nothing in overly high heels, too many guys wearing their caps backwards, and  the music blaring all the way down the street. Auguste smiled—his heart was pounding, drumming along with the beat of the music.

Auguste entered the house; it was dimly lit with fairy lights, a fog machine making it even more difficult to see; the floor was sticky and it smelled like mold, liquor, and smoke. Huet stayed a close shadow but Auguste knew better than to accept or drink anything offered. He was still a public figure, and everything he did could and probably would be recorded, so being that he was still only seventeen he didn’t partake. But for these brief moments, he could close his eyes and imagine what he would be doing if he had the liberty to do so. Would he be chugging down the beer with his team cheering him on, or would he be dancing with the girl on the table like he didn’t have a care in the world? These students were free—and Auguste wanted to feel it.

“Hey! You came!” The brown haired girl from the seminar ran up to him, her drink sloshing in her hand. She grabbed his arm in excitement, and Auguste signaled to Huet behind his back that she was safe. “Do you want a drink? Are you having fun?” She shouted in his ear because the music was loud.

Kings Above, she would beautiful. Bright green eyes, pouty lips, all wrapped up in a tight black dress and her hand was still on his arm. “I am now,” he murmured, close to her ear.

She blushed, hitting him on the chest. And then recoiled. “Oh my—I’m so sorry. I just hit a national treasure. Did I just say that?” Her face was red. But it might have been the lighting.

Auguste smiled, and wrapped an arm around her waist. “You did,” his voice low. “But I don’t mind.”

She giggled and loops her arms around his neck. Some of her beer splashed on him, but Auguste ignored it. They swayed to the music, not following the beat or rhythm, but enjoying the moment. She was shorter than him, even with heels, and she rested her head against his shoulder. It was getting quieter in the room, the party was drifting to the next room, but the two of them remained in their slow sway.

“Do you,” she whispered partially into his neck, “want to get out of here?” Her words flooded Auguste with a heat. She began mouthing at his neck.

Auguste was still keenly aware of Huet standing a few feet away, pretending to nurse a drink and doing an odd shuffle to the music to blend in—Jord was right, those were nice ankles. Auguste wondered, his face heating up at the thought of the small square packet in his pocket, if Huet would deem it a security risk if Auguste followed through with her plan. It was rude of a gentleman to reject a lady’s advances.

He was saved from answering her or broaching the subject by his phone ringing, a special ringtone, coded for emergencies—a specific emergency, with only one person able to dial it.

Auguste let go of her, and took a step back. “I’m sorry,” he said before pulling out his phone. He had missed the call, but there was a picture sent to his messages. He opened it, his heart pounding. It was Laurent, and there was blood all over his face. It was dripping between his eyes and down past his bruised lips. No.

“I have to go,” he said to the girl. “Forgive me.”   

Knowing Huet would follow him, Auguste escaped to the front of the house, and started running.

In the back of his head, Auguste knew he should be thinking rationally. Call Jord, or have Huet assess the situation, but he didn’t have time for that. Huet was calling him as they ran, asking him what was wrong, but Auguste didn’t want to waste his breath answering. He focused on sprinting back to campus—the house party had been only a few minutes away—to the library where Jord and Laurent were waiting for him.

He feared the worst. Smoke and flames; police, sirens. But as he approached the library, everything was as he and Huet had left it. The library was well-lit against the other dark academic buildings and the trees that cloaked the campus. There was no panic, no sign of any danger.

They stopped near the library entrance. Huet approached him, his breath slightly labored like Auguste, “Your Highness—”

A shriek burst into the night air. It came from within.

Auguste didn’t care if there was a gunman on the loose, or if it was some madman. Laurent was in there, and hurt. He ran in, ignoring the fluorescent lights that made the setting too bright for whatever calamity he may find. Through the fancy entrance, Auguste could see people with—red—blood on them.

No. He had left Laurent alone for such a _stupid_ reason, and now Laurent was hurt. He couldn’t imagine how scared Laurent must be right now. Where was Jord; had he been deposed? How did this happen?

As he came close to the crowd, Auguste stopped. Stunned. There were people in heavy military gear, checking their guns. Half the people had blood streaming down their faces, but there was no screaming, no crying. Smiles all around, and some shrieking laughter from a corner.

“Auguste! You came!” Laurent ran up to him. The blood was still on his face, bruises, but his little brother was smiling. Jord was behind him, a blood handprint on his cheek from a small hand—Laurent’s.

Auguste took a deep breath and reassessed. Laurent didn’t appear hurt. On a second look, he saw that the guns were fake, the orange tip at the end of the barrel denoting them as a toy guns.  There was a table set up on the corner full of bottles and brushes. Makeup. The blood was fake.

“Laurent,” Auguste let out a cry of relief, and pulled him into a tight embrace. He was okay.

Laurent squirmed. “Stop! You’re messing up the makeup,” he complained, but wrapped his arms around Auguste anyway, returning the embrace before pulling away.

Auguste took another deep breath. He wasn’t angry. His brother was safe, unharmed; he was a hot-blooded seventeen- year- old who did not need to get laid, anyway. Nope. “What’s going on?”

“Hm?” Laurent looked up from where he was using his front-view camera to check on his face. “I sent you a picture. They’re doing a Zombies Run in the library and they said I could join.” Laurent was bright eyes and all smiles.

“Why didn’t you tell me this along with the photo?” Auguste tried to keep his voice calm, collected.

“But I tried. You didn’t pick up.” Laurent tilted his head. “How was the party? You smell horrible.” Laurent wrinkled his nose.

His phone had only rang once before it stopped.

“Since you’re here, do you want to play?” Laurent grabbed Auguste’s hand and began walking them towards the makeup table. His hands were sticky and red, no doubt from the handprint he had smeared on Jord.

Oh, his adorable, scheming, little con-artist. If Auguste went back to the party now, there was no way the girl would want to see him again, if she had even stayed after he so rudely abandoned her at the house. He had thought the game was done—but Laurent had still been playing. Checkmate.

Auguste laughed and allowed himself to be led to the corner. Perhaps this was better. How many opportunities did he have to run around a library dressed up as a zombie, being chased by other students dressed up in non-disguising camouflage, hiding amongst the stacks and being pelted with foam bullets? He would have other chances to chase girls—college parties in Arles weren’t any different than in Acquitart.

Laurent bit him.

“Ow!” It wasn’t the most painful bite, but he instinctively jerked his hand away. There was a faint imprint of Laurent’s teeth. “What the—”

Laurent smiled wide, showing all his teeth. “I just changed you. Now you’re a zombie.”

All the college students around them were giving them a wide berth, but clearly sending Laurent endearing looks. His brother was a little flushed with the attention, but still smiling—happy and uninhibited. It had been a long time since they had played with more than just the two of them.

“Ah!!” Auguste screamed, clutching his heart. He fell to his knees. “Noooooo,” he cried, falling to the floor at the feet of the girl who was manning the makeup table.

“Oh dear, it seems we have a shifter. Let’s prep him,” the girl said, amused. She had short brown hair, and was dressed in a military costume. Behind a pair of rimmed glasses, her hazel eyes were warm.

Auguste obediently sat down in the seat across from her. He gestured at her clothes. “Are you a zombie, or a hunter?”

She leaned close to apply red paint to his face, the front of her shirt falling low and Auguste’s eyes flickered down for a guilty second, but then determinedly brought his eyes back up. “Oh, you know what they say. Keep your friends close, but your enemies closer.”

Auguste could see flecks of green in her eyes.

She tilted his head to get a better angle, but left her thumb close to his lip. “So be careful, because once the games start, I’m going to chase you.”

Pitching his voice low, Auguste replied, “I'm okay with that.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Laurent simulate vomiting to Huet and Jord.

Later that night, Laurent collapsed on his bed with a handful of foam bullets, a souvenir from the college students who had indulged the brothers and allowed them to join in. Laurent’s hair was still damp with sweat from running around the entire building, and a lot of his makeup had run off, but just in case, Auguste retrieved a damp towel before it stained the sheets.

It had been a fun night—he couldn’t remember much from the party, but he won’t ever forget the happy shrieks from his brother as they joined in the zombie horde to take down the surviving humans during the _final countdown_ , or the stunned look on Jord’s face when one of the humans shot him right between the eyes, or when Laurent stood in the line of fire after Auguste was taken out so they could both be ‘killed’ and respawn together. Auguste was also going to privately remember the feel of the make-up artist's soft lips on his from their kiss behind the bookshelves.

Despite Laurent thinking he had won, it had been a stalemate, really. The girl, after shooting him two times in the chest, told him she was doing a semester exchange at the University of Arles. He had her number written on a foam bullet in his back pocket that she had slipped in there during their stolen kiss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nearing the end! One final chapter....which is about the entire length of this fic so far, so give me a few more days to upload. Got an important exam Friday /dying


	8. twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This chapter has canon levels of Regent behavior. Please read the end notes if you would like to know what happens in case this may be triggering.

“How is he?” Auguste cradled the phone by his ear as he stirred some flour and sugar together in a cup. Mug cakes—serious dorm room cooking, and ingenious. Auguste wasn’t actually in the dormitories, as it was too much of a security risk, but he had moved out into his own small studio apartment so he could focus on his studies. He was on his weekly phone call with his mother.

“He’s fine, he just misses you,” Hennike said. Auguste could hear geese in the background. His mother was probably currently in the gardens at the Bazal palace. She and his father was attending the royal wedding between King Torgeir and one of Auguste’s second—or third?—cousins. “It’s been a few months so he’s been able to adjust to you being gone.”

Auguste popped his cup into the microwave. “He really could have stayed with me. My finals aren’t that hard. Better than being all alone at the palace.”

Hennike chided him; they’d been over this topic many times. “You know he’ll distract you—one minute you’ll be studying and the next he’ll have dragged you across the city for a late night milkshake.”

Auguste laughed; that was his brother. “I just don’t want him to be too lonely, Mother. You know he doesn’t have that many friends in his classes. He intimidates them with how bright he is. And the palace is too big for one boy.”

His mother sighed. “Is this conversation going towards Vask again, Auguste? I told you you’ll have to talk to your father first.” She knew him way too well.

“I did promise to take him to the Altai Faire, Mother. I don’t want to break my word. He’s been wanting to go for ages.”

“Is that so? He’s only gone through twelve of them.” Auguste heard noise in the background and then his mother sighed again. “Duty calls, I must be off. I will talk to your father about it if you promise me you'll stop making Laurent promises you’re not certain you can keep.”

Oh, Auguste planned on keeping all of his promises. “Thank you, Mother. Enjoy your evening.”

“Good-night, sweetheart. Good luck with your exam tomorrow.”

Auguste removed his mug-cake and took it with him to his couch, where the news was on, volume low. It was showing live coverage of the very wedding that his parents were presently attending. He wondered if he’d catch sight of them. The camera was currently on the Akielon attendees, panning over Crown Prince Damianos and Prince Kastor. Auguste thought about how if Laurent had been less stubborn and not snuck off to Auguste’s fencing match to cheer him on, their father would not have punished him and he would be in Patras with them. Auguste did enjoy the boost of support seeing Laurent in the crowd with his shiny golden hair and an equally shiny sign, though. They had gone out for celebratory beignets afterwards.

Just as Auguste pulled out his notes to study for his physics exam the following morning, his phone rang again. He considered ignoring the call—at some point tonight he _should_ really start studying. He never used to be a procrastinator, but it seemed college nurtures the crammer in everyone.

But the caller was Laurent.

“Hello,” he greeted, picking up.

“Auguste!” Laurent’s voice was more high-pitched on the phone. “Did you receive the cookies I sent you? They’re for good-luck. I made them with Jord.”

“Oh, yes. They were delicious,” Auguste said, and he could almost imagine the preening look Laurent had on right now. The cookies were in fact horrible and were currently laid out on a plate near the front door so he could pass them off to whichever Guard was coming to visit him. “Such a unique cookie, really. Chocolate chip and egg shells? Ingenious.”

“Auguste,” Laurent said, pouting. Auguste could audibly hear the pout.

Auguste chuckled. He should teach Laurent how to make a mug-cake, but perhaps after he taught Laurent how to crack an egg properly. The news channel switched over to the evening weather, and Auguste’s eyes flickered to his window. It had begun raining. “There’s a big storm tonight. Is Goose with you?”

“Oh, Mother told me not to tell you until after your exams,” Laurent’s voice went soft, “but he’s sick.”

“What happened?” Auguste was a little upset that their mother hadn't mentioned anything during their phone call, pretending everything was alright. His exams were important, but Goose was family.

“Uncle says it’s a virus, and it’s quite contagious so we shouldn’t keep Goose with the others dogs at the kennel house. He sent Goose to Chastillon, says he has a vet there who helped his dogs before when they got sick with something similar.”

“Uncle? He’s here in Arles?” At the Senate meeting Auguste sat in earlier this week, he had heard from the Department of State that their uncle would be in Vask sorting out a minor border skirmish.

“I guess he finished dealing with the issues early? He came over because he said since Mother and Father are away, I shouldn’t be alone in the palace. He says we’re going to drink hot chocolate and watch movies all night long. He’s so much nicer than you, Auguste. You’ve all but forgotten me now that you have your parties and college friends,” Laurent said dramatically. “Even my dog has left me.”

Although Laurent was trying for a light, joking tone, Auguste knew that he was confessing some of his insecurities. Auguste felt a pang of regret—not for the first time second-guessing his decision to leave the palace and move out on his own. Yes, campus was now within walking distance and he could roll out of bed with ten minutes to spare and still show up on time, but the palace was only a short drive away. He could have stayed and not moved out.

Outside his window, the rain grew heavier and the first flash of lightning appeared. A few seconds later, the thunder erupted and he heard a minor whimper from Laurent. “Maybe I’ll stop by tomorrow after my exam. To see Uncle, of course. I haven’t seen him in a long time.” The best way to distract Laurent was to get him riled up and indignant. Which was what happened, as Laurent released a series of protesting noises. “What are you doing now?”

“I’m just waiting for Uncle in his rooms. He’s making hot chocolate right now. Sophie offered to make it but Uncle says he has a special recipe. What movie should I choose?” There was some background noise and then before Auguste could reply, Laurent asked, “Are you studying right now? I think Uncle’s coming back, so I’ll let you get back to your notes. See you tomorrow!”  

Laurent hung up before Auguste could say good-bye, and he looked at the _End Call_ message on his phone. Something was bothering him and he couldn’t figure out what it was. Outside the storm raged on, lighting up the night sky and interrupting the silence of his studio with loud cracks of thunder. Laurent must be terrified right now but pretending to be strong, especially without Goose there.

Auguste didn’t know what possessed him to do it, but he sent a message to Jord, who was staying in the apartment next to his. The Prince’s Guard had a rotating schedule between the palace for Laurent and the apartment here for Auguste. _Who is at the palace tonight?_ he texted.

The reply was immediate. _Only the perimeter guard tonight, the Chastillon Guard has filled-in for the palace guard._ _Is everything alright?_

 _Yes._ Auguste didn’t want to alarm Jord over nothing. _Do you want cookies?_

_If they are Prince Laurent’s cookies, I would prefer to keep my teeth, your highness._

It was nothing. Just the storm psyching him out. Auguste turned back to studying. Laurent was protected at the palace, their Uncle was with him, and everything was going to be okay.

But no matter how many times he read over his lecture notes, he couldn’t focus. The words swam before his eyes, and he just couldn’t get comfortable. He had an inkling in the back of his mind like he forgot something important and couldn’t remember what it was. After a few more minutes, he gave up. He was too distracted to be studying anyway. He packed up a small bag with his notes and decided that he would drive over and spend the night at the palace and then drive back the following morning for his exam.

Auguste decided against informing Jord. He’d bring the tracker ring in case of emergencies, but he knew Jord would insist on securing a route before heading out and he just wanted to get to the palace as soon as he could. He couldn’t explain why he felt so rushed, but he did.

He drove straight through the pouring rain, glad that the roads were empty due to the storm. His heart began beating fast, and he couldn’t fathom way. He arrived at the palace in record speed, lowering his window to identify himself to the guards at the gate, undoubtedly confusing and alarming them. Jord would probably be on his way here soon.

The palace was quiet; too quiet. His footsteps echoed down the halls, and despite carrying an umbrella, Auguste was soaked through and definitely tracking mud and rain water down the marble floors. Some of the night staff approached him with concern, but he gave them easy excuses, saying he wanted to surprise his Uncle and brother.

Soon he arrived at his Uncle’s suite, the rooms he stayed at when he was visiting Arles. There was a dim light peeking out from beneath the door. He could hear the faint noises of the television. Normally Auguste would never be so disrespectful as to do this, but he did tell the staff he was surprising his family and he wanted to be consistent with the gossip. Without knocking, he pushed the doors open and burst in.

Laurent was laying atop the bed, asleep with his face pressed to the pillows. Their uncle was kneeling on the bed, the image of a concerned uncle tucking his nephew to bed—if not for his hands. Laurent’s sleep shirt was unbuttoned and open. Their uncle was caressing his bare chest with one hand, the other hand pulling down Laurent’s sleeping bottoms.

At Auguste’s sudden entrance, he pulled away with a startle. When he saw that it was Auguste, he frowned but remained on the bed. “Auguste,” he said, casually. As if they had just met for brunch and not having just been caught doing an unspeakable act.

Auguste, who had been stunned to silence for a brief moment, gritted his teeth. “Step away from him.” He hardly recognized his own voice.

“You have unfortunate timing, nephew.” His uncle didn’t move. Instead he turned back to Laurent, and caressed his hand down Laurent’s face.

“I said, step away from him!” His uncle threw an arrogant look over his shoulder, and Auguste looked around the room, for anything. There was ceremonial armor in the corner; he pulled out the sword and thrust it in front of him. He didn’t care that he had left the door wide open, or that the television was still airing some action comedy in the background. All he could see was his brother, and all he could hear was the pounding in his ears.

“Put down that silly thing, Auguste. It’s a prop.” His uncle stood up. Despite being a career politician, his uncle had broad shoulders and the thick muscles of a formidable fighter. In the back of his head, Auguste recalled that their uncle had won in wrestling at the Akielon Games for many years when he participated. They had gone together to the last one, and his uncle had given him advice the entire time—he had bought him his first horse, and taught him how to ride during his many trips to Chastillion.

“How could you do this?” Auguste choked out. The sword wavered in his hand, and he brought up his other hand to steady it.

His uncle stepped closer, and his face was dark and lecherous. “Could you really blame me? He is such a beautiful child, always tugging at my jacket, saying ‘uncle play with me, come play with me.’” His tone was flippant as he mocked a child's high-pitched voice.

“You disgust me. You're his _uncle_ , his _family_. You won’t get away with this,” Auguste promised. He needed to get Laurent away.

His uncle remained unperturbed. “And you think you can stop me? You don’t want to start anything you can't finish, Auguste.”

“Try me.” Auguste darted forward, the sword pointed straight at his uncle's chest, but he dodged and it sliced down his arm instead. A shallow cut, but a cut nonetheless. Not a prop after all, then. Auguste pulled back to keep a certain space between them.

“You would try to kill your own uncle?” His voice was condescending, amused. Even now he wasn’t taking the situation seriously.

Enraged, Auguste bit out, “You are no uncle of mine.” He leapt forward but it was too soon, having allowed himself to plunder in his anger. Instead of being pushed back, his uncle stepped into Auguste's space, grabbed his wrist and squeezed until Auguste gasped in pain and the sword dropped. With his other hand, his uncle sent him a solid punch straight into his abdomen.

Auguste collapsed to the floor in pain. He tried to reach for the sword, but his uncle stepped on his hand, and Auguste let out a cry of pain.

“A pity, Auguste.” His uncle picked up the sword and tossed it aside. He crouched down close to Auguste. “You should have just stayed away. Now you’re never going to see Laurent again. He’ll be so sad.” He put his hand around Auguste’s neck and began to squeeze. Auguste looked at him incredulously, with wide, unbelieving eyes, instinctively reaching to grab at his uncle's hand. “He’ll need comforting, of course. Poor, lonely, little Laurent. Maybe I’ll even suggest that he stay with me in Chastillon while he mourns the death of his big brother.” Auguste began to struggle as the hand around his neck tightened further. “I’ll tuck him into bed every night, don’t worry.”

Auguste struggled for anything, anything that would stop his uncle. His arms and legs jerked as he began to lose oxygen, his vision starting to black out. Suddenly his hand grabbed. Something. He didn’t know what it was but with his final bit of strength he lifted it up and slammed it hard against his uncle’s head.  

The force of it knocked his uncle back, and Auguste scrambled up from the floor, gasping for breath. Before his uncle could recover, he used the item and brought it hard against his uncle’s head again. And for good measure, punched him hard across the face. He continued taking deep, rattling breaths.

His uncle fell over, slumping against the bed. Blood trickled from the top of his head. Auguste looked at the item in his hand—it was the heavy tome of fairy tales that he used to read together with Laurent. Laurent must have brought it in to read tonight, and it had saved their lives.

“You better kill me, Auguste.” His uncle said, his voice slow. Auguste startled; he thought his uncle had been knocked unconscious. “Because I’ll remember this. And I’ll be coming for you. Watch your back.” He smiled, blood dripping down his teeth. “And your brother’s.”

Auguste felt panic crawling over him; he needed his uncle to stop talking. He brought his hands to his uncle’s throat and tightened his grip until his uncle went silent. He let go, in shock. His heart was still racing. His uncle was still breathing. Auguste couldn’t tell if he was relieved about that or not.

Auguste heaved himself up, his sore body aching, but powering through. He wanted to crash on the bed and close his eyes, pretending none of this had happened, but he had to take care of this. He had to keep Laurent safe. He walked to the door and locked it. He didn’t know why his uncle had kept the door unlocked—perhaps he liked the thrill of potentially being caught; perhaps he was too confident that no one would dare come in. But soon someone would, and Auguste couldn’t let them see. He turned off the television. He pulled off his belt and looped it around his uncle’s hands and tied it to the leg of the bed in case he woke up.

Finally Auguste walked over to Laurent. His shirt was opened, but he looked okay. When Auguste pulled his brother up and cradled Laurent into his arms, Laurent’s face fell back, and Auguste could see that his lips were swollen. Auguste tried to control his breathing. Laurent was safe. On the bedside table was a mug of hot chocolate. The television was off. The door was locked. Outside, the rain had stopped. The only sound left in the room was his heavy breathing. Their uncle was knocked out on the floor, still slowly bleeding from his head. And Laurent was safe.

With a deep breath, still holding Laurent in his arms, Auguste picked up his phone and called the one person who could fix this. His father.

-

The sun was bright and radiant the next day, high in the sky by the time Laurent woke up. The beautiful weather seemed at odds with everything that had happened in the last few hours. Auguste had carried Laurent to his room and prohibited anyone from entering besides their mother after she arrived.

The talk with his father had been explosive—never had he traded such enraged, callous words with the man he loved and admired. But Auguste had a breaking point, and it began and ended with Laurent.

They had found sleeping pills in the uncle’s rooms and deduced that it was what he had drugged Laurent with. Rather than alarming the physician and the palace staff until they sorted out this mess, Auguste locked himself away to monitor his brother. Laurent had stayed in a deep sleep for hours, but his breathing was steady, and he finally woke up with a low moan that stirred Auguste from his thoughts near the window.

Auguste hurried over to the bed. “Laurent!”

Laurent rubbed his eyes, felt his lip—which, while the swelling had gone down, was probably still fairly tender, Auguste thought darkly—and looked at him with confusion. “Auguste, you’re home!” He yawned and stretched. “What time is it? I feel like I slept for ages. I don't even remember when I fell asleep last night.” His face brightened, “How was your exam? And why are you wearing a scarf indoors, you weirdo. College has changed you.”

It seemed Laurent didn’t remember anything. Auguste touched the scarf that currently hid the bruises from last night and he hesitated—not sure what to tell his little brother. He didn’t want him to grow up afraid of his own family; he wanted to preserve his innocence for as long as he could. He smiled genially and sat down on the bed beside Laurent. “My exam got pushed back. I’m actually about to go take it now, do you want to come to the college with me? You can hang out with Jord in the student rec center until I’m done. And then we can go celebrate my first semester together afterwards.”

Auguste supposed that a benefit of being the Crown Prince was that when he missed his physics final, a call from the Queen of Vere asking for a makeup exam on his behalf was rarely ignored.

Laurent smiled. “That sounds great!” He looked around the room. “Wait, where’s uncle? Have you seen him yet?”

Auguste bit his lip—there was so much to tell, but he couldn’t bring himself to say it. Keeping his voice calm, he asked, “How much do you remember from last night?”

Laurent frowned. “Not much. We were watching a movie but I guess it was boring because I fell asleep right away. Note to self—uncle has poor taste in movies.” He perked up. “We should take him with us to your college. He graduated from there too, he can show me around while you take your exam.”

“Laurent,” Auguste began, grabbing his brother's hand and holding it tightly. “Uncle...he’s in the hospital.”

Laurent froze up. “What—”

“Last night, it was raining really hard. Uncle must’ve slipped on the marble step outside and fallen. He hit his head….they’re operating on him right now.”

Laurent gasped, his eyes beginning to well up. “Is that why you came back? Does Mother and Father know?”

“They flew back right away and they’re taking care of everything now. They don’t want the media to know about it. You know how they blow everything out of proportion.” This wasn’t a lie.

Laurent didn’t say anything, but he was gripping his sheets tightly in his fists.

“Laurent, I don’t want you to be alone right now. Will you come with me?” Auguste pleaded.

His brother nodded, and slowly got out of bed. He moved to change out of his clothes, his face still in shock. Auguste couldn’t hold off any longer, he walked over and hugged his brother close to his chest. “Everything will be okay, I promise.” Laurent was shaking in his arms, and then Auguste realized he was choking back sobs. He pressed a kiss to top of his brother’s head. “Everything will be okay.”

The drive to his university was quiet—the two brothers sat in the backseat as Jord drove. Laurent kept his red eyes staring outside at the window, and Auguste kept avoiding the concerned looks from Jord through the rear-view mirror. They hadn’t discussed it and Jord knew better than to question the palace gossip. As of now, what they knew—and what the media knew—was that there was an accident at the palace last night and the King’s brother, Prince of Chastillion, and Chief of Protocol was currently in the hospital. There was no press conference yet but the official publicist has released a statement regarding the issue and asked the media for their support and patience during this difficult time.

Auguste left for his exam while Jord and Laurent stayed in the campus library, Laurent confessing that he would prefer to simply read quietly for the next two hours. When Auguste arrived at his professor’s office, he received a concerned look, but no further questioning. He hadn’t reviewed for the exam at all, and he knew he had all but lost the A he was aiming for, but the rest of his grades in the class were capable of helping him pass regardless of his score. He wasn’t concerned about it at this moment. He finished as soon as he could and rushed back to the library.

He had an idea, and while it seemed crazy and irrational, he knew he couldn’t just stay in Arles with Laurent. There would be too many questions and he needed to prevent Laurent from suspecting that there was anything wrong.

As they were eating a celebratory lunch with Laurent mainly just picking at his food, still a glum look on his face, Auguste suggested it. “Hey, why don’t we go to Vask?”

“What?” Laurent scowled. “How could you even suggest that?”

“You’ve been wanting to go, and I’m finally on break—”

Laurent interrupted him, an angry look on his face. “I mean, how can you suggest that when our uncle is in the hospital!” Laurent looked around and lowered his voice. “We haven’t even visited him yet!”

Auguste’s stomach turned. He didn’t want Laurent anywhere near their uncle, whether he was awake or not. But now Laurent was looking at him with horror, like his beloved brother was a heartless man who couldn’t care less if a family member of his was dying. Auguste had no appetite. He pushed his food away. “Laurent...please don’t think so low of me. Of course I’m worried too.”

Laurent looked at him with wet eyes. “What do you want me to think?”

“I…” Auguste didn’t know what to say. He didn’t want his brother to continue looking at him in that way, but he knew he couldn’t bring himself to tell the truth. The fewer people that knew, the better. “I…” Auguste hesitated. Was it better to keep covering it up with lies; would his brother hate him less if the truth came out? He wish he had more time to decide but Laurent kept _looking_ at him, and he needed to make a choice. “Father and Mother asked me to take you away.”

Laurent recoiled. “Why?” he demanded.

“There’s so much going on right now. Once he’s stable they’re flying him to a private facility and right now they’re sorting things out with the State Department, making sure someone can take over, and setting up a press conference, and us being here only distracts them.”

His brother looked crestfallen. “I won’t get in their way,” he protested. But then he slumped his shoulders, the fight leaving him. “Are you sure this is the best? For us to be escaping to Vask while all this is going on? Won’t the press talk?”

“I’ve thought about it,” Auguste said. He hadn’t. Yes, it would be highly inappropriate for him and Laurent to be seen vacationing somewhere while their uncle was on the cusp of death, but he would rather flee to the corners of the globe than to keep Laurent here. “We can go in disguise.”

Laurent blinked.

“We’ll take Jord, Orlant, and Huet with us.  We can take the night train directly to Vask and we’ll be able to blend into the crowds at the Altai Faire. No one will be looking for us there.”

Laurent still looked torn between insisting on staying to see their uncle and following along with Auguste’s plan, but the excitement of another adventure won out and he agreed. Auguste relayed his plans to the members of the Prince’s Guard that he trusted the most, and informed his parents. When it looked like their Father might object, Auguste sent him a withering look. “This is for Laurent’s safety. I protected him, now it’s your turn. Fix this.”

Auguste turned to leave the study. He did not stay behind to hear his Father’s reply, and ignored the clatter as his Father angrily swept everything off his desk.

His Mother would calm his Father down, and would also keep Auguste informed of what happened. He needed to know how his Father would proceed once his Uncle was awake. There would be no more excuses, no more looking the other way. Auguste knew his Mother understood, but it was time to realize that his Father’s love for his brother could not overshadow the atrocities he committed. He needed to be locked away and Auguste didn’t care how. No matter what, Auguste would ensure that Laurent was safe.

The train ride was quiet—they had their own private sleeping cabin but Laurent spent most of it staring out the window or reading a book. Auguste debated between coaxing him into conversation, but his own tiredness won out, and Auguste found himself drifting off to sleep soon after with the motions of the rocking train.

Auguste woke up to a gasp and Laurent only a few steps away him. He had a frightened look on his face and Auguste immediately stood up to assess the situation. They were still on the train, much more mountainous now that they had entered Vask—they must’ve passed the border in the middle of the night—and the room was still locked. But Laurent still had a look of horror on his face, and after a few seconds, Auguste realized the look was trained on him.

He grabbed his neck and felt bare skin—his scarf must have unraveled in the middle of the night. “Laurent—”

“What happened?” Laurent demanded. “How—how did you get hurt?”

Auguste paused, but it only made Laurent more upset.

“Stop _lying_ to me! I know you’re not telling me something. Did someone attack you?” Laurent flinched. “Did they attack uncle, too? Is that why he’s in the hospital?”

Laurent looked as though he would start crying again. Auguste wanted to cry too. He was _so tired_ —of all the lies, of having his brother turn away from him, of carrying such a burden. He opened his arms and to his relief, Laurent didn’t turn away but folded right into him.

They hugged tight, Laurent pressing his head up against Auguste’s stomach. “Tell me the truth,” he said, his muffled words came out quiet.

Auguste put his hand on Laurent’s soft hair, smoothing down some of the mussed locks. How could he even bring himself to describe that night? “These bruises...they weren’t... I…” Auguste hesitated. It was better if he just told the facts. He took a deep breath, and uttered, “Uncle is in the hospital because of me.”

Laurent stiffened in his arms, and Auguste held him all the more tighter.

“I... saw some things he didn’t want me to see, and we fought.” Auguste closed his eyes, not wanting to see the look of horror on Laurent’s face when he realized that his older brother was the one to hurt their uncle. He could have told Laurent what he had seen upon entering their uncle’s rooms, but he couldn’t. He would sacrifice being a hero if it meant keeping his brother innocent and in the dark.

Laurent tried to pull out from his grasp, and Auguste let him go. But when his brother didn’t say anything, Auguste opened his eyes to see anger, but not directed at him. “Uncle _did_ that to you?” Laurent gestured towards Auguste’s neck.

Auguste nodded. His throat closed up. When he shut his eyes, he could still imagine the heavy fingers wrapped around him, squeezing, choking the life out of him, his uncle hovering above him with no mercy in his eyes.

Laurent shook with anger. “Why?” Auguste didn’t answer and Laurent paced around the small quarters of the train car, a habit he had when he was working out a problem. Auguste prayed that Laurent would never figure it out. Laurent stopped moving, turned to Auguste, and said, “Treason.”

Of course. Laurent, with his brilliance and innocence would immediately come up with the most logical scenario. “Yes,” Auguste agreed, the lie thick on his tongue. He repeated, “Yes.” Now that he thought more of it, it wasn't a complete lie. Attempting to murder a member of the royal family _was_ traitorous, but it was the least of their uncle's crimes, in Auguste's opinion.

“What was Uncle doing?”

“Laurent.” Auguste sat down on the bed and said pleadingly, “Please don’t make me say it. It is something that will tarnish our family. Father and Mother are fixing it but if the news ever gets out, I don’t want you implicated.”

Laurent sat down next to him, with a frown on his young face. Auguste wanted to wipe it away.

Auguste continued, “Uncle has done a disservice to our country and to our royal family. But not anymore. Please, this is all I can tell you. Will you promise me that you won’t mention this again? Not to anyone?” Auguste longed to reach out to his brother, to let him understand that everything he was doing, all of these lies, these double-edged words were all for him.

Laurent leaned against him, his head resting in the nook under Auguste’s arm and Auguste immediately wrapped his arm around his brother. “I promise.”

For a long while, they just sat together, resting in the comfort of their embrace against the gentle rocking of the train. The only sound that was heard was the train whisking them away to Vask, away from their problems. Just when Auguste thought Laurent had fallen asleep, Laurent moved, his small hand reaching up to touch the dark bruises on Auguste’s neck. Auguste steeled himself so as to not flinch away, but Laurent’s touch was gentle.

“Does it hurt?”

“For now. It’ll go away.” Laurent’s small, gentle fingers were a contrast to their uncle’s touch. Laurent was unknowingly banishing away the memory of the uncle’s actions. “Do you think less of me, Laurent?”

Laurent lifted his fingers, as if recoiling. “Why would you think that?”

“I’m not as strong as you thought I was. This trip is me running away. I’m terrified.”

Laurent rested his head back against Auguste’s chest, his arm reaching to hug Auguste tightly. “Don’t be stupid, Auguste. You are still the strongest, bravest, coolest, big brother.” Laurent allowed the slightest bit of amusement into his voice. “But you already knew that, you just wanted me to compliment you. You literally sent the other guy to the hospital.”

Auguste chuckled, but it sounded weak. “I guess I did. You should’ve seen the other guy.”

As the silence fell around them again and the noise of the train returned, Laurent murmured, “Don’t be afraid, Auguste. I’m here. You don’t have be scared as long as I’m here. Nothing will take you away from me.”

Those words echoed in the back of Auguste’s head, like water banishing a drought of negative, self-destructive thoughts. Their uncle was locked away. Laurent was safe.  

They were going to be okay.

-

“You know, it looks like you murdered someone in there and did a bad clean-up job.”

Auguste observed the small train bathroom and couldn’t deny that. Dying your hair on a moving train and then trying to rinse it off was a disaster, leaving handprints of red stains on white porcelain. They should probably get off the moment the train stops at their destination, just in case the conductor decides to suspect them of homicide.

“I don’t know why you picked red. You look like a carrot.”

The red dye clashed with Auguste’s blonde hair, making it a shocking shade of orange. He didn’t think it looked bad, but Laurent couldn’t stop staring at him and giggling, so Auguste was growing worried. He said, “I asked Orlant to get it, he probably just grabbed the first box he saw. But what’s worse, leaving the bathroom with red stains or brown stains?”

Laurent stared at the mess over the sink and shower, and said, “Good point.”

“Are you sure you don’t want to dye your hair, too? It’s temporary, only a few weeks and then the color fades.”

Laurent gave him a side-eye, and grabbed his Veretian braid protectively. “Don’t touch my hair.”

Auguste chuckled right as the train pulled into the final station, “Alright. You’re not in the papers as much so people don’t recognize you usually. We’ll get you a hat or something when we get to there.”

They exited the train, inconspicuously followed by their three guards who were already fading into the background with the other passengers in their nondescript clothing. As they walked along with the crowds towards the exit, Auguste self-consciously adjusted the scarf around his neck. Laurent slipped his hand into his and gave him a squeeze.

He looked down at Laurent, who smiled at him. “Let’s have fun,” Laurent said.

Auguste smiled. “Let’s.”

They had arranged for two cars to pick them up from the airport, with the cover story of Huet and Orlant as a couple, vacationing at the Altai Faire and having invited along their friend Jord and his nephews. They arrived at the hotel and as the ‘adults’ went to check them into the hotel, Auguste stopped by the gift shop in the lobby and bought a furry leopard hat with ear flaps that trailed down to the arms, ending in two pockets that served either as mittens, or could be wrapped around as a scarf.

“Here,” Auguste said, and plopped it on top of Laurent’s shiny golden hair.

“It’s hideous,” Laurent grumbled, but he didn’t take it off.

The leopard was the official mascot of the Altai Faire, and for the most part, a symbol of the Vaskian Empire. Representing the leopards that the Empress used to keep at her side, they were a symbol of power. Still on the insignia of the royal family, leopards were prized and revered.

Of course in the modern era, even the leopard could not escape commercialization and thus also became a mascot for the largest amusement park in Vask. The Altai Faire, located in the south of Vask for its year-round moderate climate, brought in up to sixty percent of the tourism in Vask. It boasted an enormous theme park with state-of-the-art rides, a medieval fair, and a cultural center exploring the beautiful landscape of Vaskian Mountains and plains. With its ever-rotating schedule of rides, events and performances, the Faire advertised that one could spend a month there and still not have experienced everything offered. One could ride a virtual reality rollercoaster in the morning, dress up as a knight and sword fight in the afternoon, bungee jump into the Altai George in the evening, and end the day with dinner aboard a canoe ride watching the sun set below the canyons.

They returned to their Guard and entered the elevator to bring them up to their rooms. Right as the door was about to close, a slim hand held it open, and a pretty blonde girl around Auguste’s age stepped in. They shuffled a bit to give her room, and she pressed for the top floor before looking at them and giving them a polite smile.

Auguste noticed her green eyes and smiled back. She turned her attention to Laurent however, and commented in Vaskian, “Nice hat. Are you here for the Faire?”

Laurent shoved his hands into the hand compartment of the long ear flaps, and muttered a 'thank you' and an affirmation in accented Vaskian. Besides that exchange, they stayed silent until they arrived at their floor. As they all streamed out, Auguste turned back for a final glance at the girl who remained in the elevator and saw that she was staring back at him.

Auguste sped up, wondering if she had perhaps recognized him. It didn’t appear so, as she didn’t have the consistent look of alarm and then—not to boast—blush that most girls had when they realized they were standing next to Crown Prince of Vere. She was probably just a friendly and curious fellow guest at the hotel, and Auguste knew his paranoia was making him hyper-aware.

Given that they had arrived in the middle of the day, they decided to rest easy in their suite. When calling for reservations the penthouse suite was already taken, so they ended up with a two-bedroom suite, giving Auguste and Laurent privacy, yet still secure with Jord and the others in the next room. After discussing plans to dine at the rooftop restaurant, Auguste returned to his room to find Laurent sprawled out on his bed like a starfish, fast asleep.

Auguste chuckled and pushed open the curtains to walk out into their balcony. It overlooked the pool, and further out he could see the entire park laid out, majestic rollercoasters cropping out from behind the hills. Taking this moment alone, Auguste checked in with his mother. Before his thoughts could drift to his uncle again, Auguste returned to the many pamphlets advertising the events and schedule at the park that Laurent had amassed next to him on the bed. It would be good to plan out an itinerary—as much as he would like to, they couldn’t stay here forever.

After a revitalizing dinner of Vaskian grilled meats and local produce and a full night’s rest on actual beds, Auguste and Laurent woke up bright and early for a simple breakfast in their balcony as they reviewed their plan. They would start out in the theme park first in order to avoid the long lines that would only grow as the day dragged on, explore the nature parks, and end the night at the medieval faire. Because they could be called back to Vere any day, this plan allowed them to enjoy at least a small touch of everything.

The moment they arrived at the park, they were bombarded by photographers wanting them to partake in a group photo, but Jord gruffly denied them, feigning the impatience of an already-tired-out parent fairly well. They avoided most pictures—except for when they came upon the leopard cats. The living mascot of the Altai Faire, they were giant, domesticated cats bred to look like leopards and they roamed the park freely, often begging for treats which were sold at every corner, and laying still to pose for photos. Auguste and Laurent couldn’t resist this one, and handed their personal phones to Huet and Orlant to capture photos of them feeding the cats, and most adorably, one where the cat licked Laurent across the face when he ran out of treats.

For the next few years, Auguste had the photo of him and Laurent—wearing a leopard hat—feeding the leopard cats as his background wallpaper on his phone.

It was a good decision to tackle the busiest rides earliest in the morning because the downfall of pretending to be nobody important was waiting in the lines. At the Park’s famed ‘fastest ride,’ they traded laughs at their terrified faces caught by the camera as the rollercoaster plunged them down a mountain while being chased by a dragon, the rollercoaster flying through rings of fire at impossible speeds. Auguste realized that the most nauseating ride was not the rollercoasters, but the simple pirate ship, which flipped them around with no seatbelts or restraints, relying solely on centrifugal force—Auguste knew his face held a look of pure terror. After escaping that metal death-trap, Auguste and Laurent both admitted they needed to walk on solid ground.

Their next destination was a haunted hospital which, since they knew the undead were just actors with prosthetics and fake blood, was not as terrifying. Laurent was too calm and logical to be frightened by the corpse in the corner—immediately deducing that it would move the moment they walked past. Auguste didn’t enjoy the sensation of peering into darkness and having shadows jump up at him, which gave him a fright once or twice. The best part of the excursion was Jord’s immediately apparent fright. He pressed up close to them, hoping they’d walk through faster, and once when a door in the hallway slammed open he actually grabbed Auguste’s arm and Laurent by the waist, sprinting away. By the time they exited, his face was pale and they all knew Huet and Orlant would tease him for days.

Auguste recognized his ultimate weakness as the spinning rides. Just the most basic, like spinning teacups, make him feel nauseous, but Laurent had the largest smile on his face, gleefully shouting with pure childlike wonder, even as he had to hold his hat on firmly so it wouldn’t fly off. Auguste realized, with a sinking feeling in his stomach, that Laurent loved spinning rides—and so when Laurent suggested going to three more, Auguste agreed only to make Laurent happy. Luckily Laurent was astute and after he noticed Auguste looking greyer in the face, he suggested they move onto lunch because he was hungry. Auguste appreciated his effort in helping him save face.

They rode the sky rail to their lunch reservations—a restaurant nestled within the forest canopy and they dined overlooking a breathtaking scenery. The large forests covered the hills for miles and even the construction of the theme park failed to disrupt the natural beauty of the landscape. The Faire was built with the intention of living in harmony with nature, its rides designed with the goal of showcasing the beauty of the environment.

As the restaurant was high up on a mountain, right next to it was a zipline. Auguste traded looks with Laurent but Jord stepped right in front of them and said with a stern look, “Please don’t.”

They ended up taking a canoe ride down the river, a slow meandering boat that allowed them to hide in the shade of the canopy and watch birds take flight overhead. At one turn of the river, they drifted as manatees and river dolphins swam around them.

They arrived at the medieval faire just in time to witness the finale of a jousting tournament, all of them making bets on their champion—despite having no real stakes or knowing the competitors. Huet won, and they all graciously piled into a ‘medieval tavern’ to buy him a mead. Laurent wandered over to an actor pretending to be the tavern drunk and sat down to play cards with him. By the time they left, Laurent had tipped the entertainer a few coins and learned a magic trick.

They came across a games stand where one could throw knives or axes at a target and Laurent tugged Auguste over as he said, “Let’s pretend the target is his face.” Auguste didn’t need to ask who Laurent was referring to.

Neither Laurent and Auguste were any good—sword fighting and other royal sports were a lot different than tossing an unbalanced dull dagger at a wooden board. Auguste saw the archery range and proclaimed a challenge: that the loser would have to bow down to the winner.

They set up their bows with Jord, Huet and Orlant as the judges. The two brothers unleashed arrow after arrow until their holders were empty. The floor was littered with arrows, and the target had only a few embedded in it, none precisely in the center. Auguste had focused on speed rather than accuracy, whereas Laurent, being younger and weaker, tired out quickly.

“Perhaps you shouldn’t have overestimated yourselves and chosen the furthest targets,” a female voice spoke out in faintly accented Veretian.

Auguste and Laurent turned to see the blonde-haired girl from the hotel elevator watching them, leaning against the wooden partition that separated them from the rest of the range. Jord and Orlant were still standing guard but hadn’t stopped her from approaching, perhaps they had not perceived her as a threat.

Laurent crossed his arms, openly glaring at her, and Auguste frowned. He didn’t like her intruding on them, no matter how her pretty green eyes seemed to gleam with amusement. “What do you want?” he asked her in flawless Vaskian.

She walked up to Auguste until they were only an arm's length away, and Auguste could see Jord reach for his concealed weapon from the corner of his eye. Auguste held out a discreet stalling hand to stop him from doing anything drastic.

The girl reached and gently tugged at Auguste’s bow until he released it. She tugged on the bowstring, testing its tension and then reached for one of the arrows in the spare holders. As she raised the bow again, Orlant moved closer but Auguste told him to stand down.  

“You have good control,” the girl remarked. She pointed the bow at the target and quickly released three arrows consecutively. They all landed dead-center in the target. She put down the bow and turned to Auguste. In a lowered voice, she continued, “Your Highness.”

“You followed us,” Orlant said harshly.

“Not exactly,” she replied. “I was here first.”

Auguste wasn’t very amused. He wanted to know who she was. “What do you want?” he asked again.

She shrugged, “Nothing. Not every day the Veretian royal brothers come through Customs asking for a quiet entrance. We like to know why people are entering our borders, but it seems you really are just trying to have a fun time. It’s cute.”

“We?”

She smiled at Auguste. “There is something I want though.”

Auguste frowned at her, “What?” Laurent tried to step up, but Auguste held out his arm and kept his brother behind him.

“You did say loser bows down to the winner.” Her eyes twinkled, clearly amused by what she was asking for, knowing full well that Auguste was a foreign prince.

Laurent looked like he was starting to object, but Auguste said, “Very well.” He knew his face was suddenly filled with mirth and watched as the smirk on her face faltered slightly. She probably didn’t expect him to agree. “I don’t like to go back on my word.”

In front of his men and Laurent, Auguste bowed at the waist and then picked up the girl’s slender hand and brought it to his mouth, brushing her knuckles against his lips. When he leaned back up, there was a faint blush on her face. Auguste smiled.

After a few long seconds passed, she said rather curtly, “Enjoy your time in Vask.” She abruptly turned on her heel and walked away, and Auguste could see that she had curled her fingers into a fist.

They all traded looks with each other, and Laurent remarked finally, “That was weird.”

Auguste agreed. She was pretty, though, and good with a bow. As they exited the range and returned their archery gear to the attendant, the man asked them, “Did you enjoy the lesson? You guys were so lucky.”

“Who was she?” Laurent asked in Vaskian, his voice carrying a bit of petulance. He had a slight accent.

“Ah, you must be tourists,” the attendant commented. “You don’t know how lucky you are. You were just in the presence of royalty! That,” he paused for dramatics, “was Princess Aloisa, fifth niece to the Empress. She teaches archery here at the kids’ camp when she’s off from school.”

“Daughter of the Empire,” Auguste murmured. No wonder she was informed of his arrival.

As they walked away, Laurent said to Auguste cheekily, “She knew who you were and still had you kiss her hand. I think based on conventional decorum, you have to get married now.”

Auguste flushed. She was very pretty. That night, Laurent rushed to the balcony to see the fireworks from the park blaze across their night sky. As sparks of green flowers exploded amidst the pitch black before falling back to the earth, Auguste was reminded of her eyes.

-

The return to Vere was hailed by updates on their uncle. Carefully orchestrated with the media, the official story was that although the King’s brother, the Prince of Chastillon, successfully awoke from his unfortunate fall, the traumatic brain injury had severe complications—ones that did not allow him to return to duty as the Chief of Protocol. Instead, he would be recovering indefinitely at a private facility tucked away in the wilds of the Northern Steppes.

The media proclaimed it a tragedy of the highest order. Citizens and foreign dignitaries alike sent their sympathies to the mourning royal family. Auguste and Laurent were both schooled in how to give the proper blanket statement of their grief to the media.

It was a very clean cover-up. No one would know the truth of what happened that night, only that the huge storm caused a very unfortunate accident on a member of the royal family, and that he would be locked away in recovery for the rest of his life. For privacy and respect towards the Prince, no visitors or reporters would be allowed to visit. The location of the private medical facility was not disclosed.

His parents looked drained after this affair, and Auguste felt a pang of guilt for running away and leaving them to take care of everything. Auguste expected his Father to punish him for his disrespect and actions before the trip to Vask, but Aleron clapped a heavy hand over Auguste’s shoulder, and pulled him in close for a rare embrace. “You did good, son. You protected your brother.”

His Mother was more open in her relief at their return. She moved her schedule around to spend more time with both Laurent and Auguste before he would have to return to school. She particularly never let Laurent leave her sight, forever caressing his hair and kissing him on the forehead or cheeks until Laurent squirmed away from embarrassment.

One day, right before Auguste’s semester was about to begin, he and Laurent were walking back to his rooms with a plateful of cookies—Hennike tasted Laurent’s creations and immediately decided an intervention was needed. She instated mother-son baking days as an unofficial household event. As he entered the room, a maid informed him, “Your Highness, flowers have arrived for you. I placed them by the window.”

It was a potted bouquet, vibrant in color, resting in a white vase. Nestled among white clovers and greens were hanging tubular flowers in pink and purple.

Laurent walked up to it and peered. “No card, did you buy flowers?”

Auguste frowned, “No.” Perhaps they were for the Queen and was mistakenly sent to him.

A mischievous smile erupted on Laurent’s face. “Maybe,” he said slowly, teasingly, “they’re from Aloisa.”

Auguste flushed. He would be lying if he said she hadn’t drifted into his thoughts every so often. She was a minor royal—the Empire had a lot of 'Daughters'—and she stayed out of the public eye, but he had looked her up and saw she was heavily involved in kid's camps and charities.

Laurent sighed, his eyes opened big and wide. He pressed his hands to his chest. He said in mocking despair, “One day she’s going to take you away, and you’ll forget all about me. When I need you, you won’t be here because you’ll be swooning away into her arms.”

Auguste smiled at his dramatics. “Come here.” He opened his arms for a hug, and Laurent obediently came. Auguste knew he gave great hugs. “Don't be ridiculous. I will always be here for you. One day, you’ll find someone who loves you as much as I do, and I’ll still be here for you. Never forget that.”

 

 

 

_Three years later_

\-   _fifteen_ -

“You’ve finally made your way back to Akielos,” Auguste teased as they walked through the grounds of the Akielon Games. “It’s not so bad, is it?”

They were walking towards a large tent, and Laurent grimaced. The sun was shining so bright and he felt uncomfortably warm. He knew Auguste lived for the Games, loved the physical challenges and the displays of sportsmanship, but Laurent just wanted to be back in the palace at Arles, curled up in his armchair, reading.

At the entrance of the tent was a large Akielon man, looking over a sword. Auguste approached him and clapped him on the back with familiarity.

The man turned, and Laurent reassessed him. With his large build, Laurent had thought he was older—a mistake because he was currently in a land of giants. He had a head full of messy dark curls and he broke out into a large smile when he saw them. The smile made him look younger, perhaps slightly younger than Auguste. The man pulled Auguste into an embrace.

Laurent frowned at the impropriety. He must think himself very close to Auguste.

Auguste hugged him back though, and when they pulled away, Auguste kept an arm over the man’s shoulders, steering him so he faced Laurent. “After so long, finally, finally, I present to you, my little brother, Laurent.”

The man looked Laurent directly in the eyes, and lifted a palm up with fingers outstretched towards Laurent, the greeting among princes. "Hello, I’m Damen."

 _Oh_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Spoiler warning: Auguste walks in on the Regent molesting a drugged and sleeping Laurent. There is nothing explicit and he doesn't get past removing Laurent's clothes. 
> 
> -
> 
>  
> 
> So how's that for a final chapter? All of a sudden there was plot. Thank you all for reading and supporting this fic. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I enjoyed writing it. 
> 
> Hopefully this fic has served its purpose as a satisfactory and fitting prequel to the glory that is Cynthia's other fics in this series. The next project I have planned for this modern royalty AU will be another prequel but Laurent & Damen-centric. As you may have guessed from that tiny 'epilogue', it will be the courtship fic :)

**Author's Note:**

> Find [me](http://sarabelium.tumblr.com/) and [Cynthia](http://americancupsofbritishtea.tumblr.com/) on tumblr!
> 
> This work is completed so new chapters will be posted every 2-3 days after a final read-through :)


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